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POEMS 



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WITH AX 



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1 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 



But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
Ainaist as soon as I could spell 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Though rude and rough : 
Yet croonin' to a body's sel' 

Does weel euough." 

— Burns, in Epistle to Lapraik. 



ILLUSTRATED. 



CINCINNATI, O.: 
Elm Street Printing Co., 176 & 178 Elm St 

1890. 




.6* 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year L889, by 

J. R. SMITH. 

in the oilier of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. I). ( 



v \ 



PREFACE 



The compiler of the former and author of the 
latter part of this volume lately came into possession 
of his father's autobiography and some of his 
poetical pieces, which he has concluded to publish 
as an introduction to a few of his own pieces of 
a similar kind, chiefly for the use of friends, and 
by request of a number of them, to whom the 
volume is submitted, with the hope that it may 
prove acceptable to them, and not wholly unaccept- 
able to the public. j. R. Smith. 

1889. 



PART I. 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND POEMS 



•OF — 



IAMES SMITH. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE. 

Autobiography g 

The Farmeb 29 

A Prayer ;>j 

The Book of Human Life 33 

On a Storm at Church ;>4 

In the Autumn of 1820 ; ; (i 

Scene at the Door of the Cot ;;; 

The Delaware Song 39 

Adventures of a Stray Leaf 4 \ 

To a Friend A\ r HO Commended His Verses, . . . 46 



Autobiography of James Smith. 



Seventy-four years ago — some time before 
railroads came in fashion — there was a little 
cottage in Scotland, on the turnpike road 
between Edinburgh and New Castle, about 
three miles from the village of Kelso, (where 
the said pike crossed the river Tweed). In 
that cottage I first breathed the vital air. It 
was built of simple masonry, and from some 
cause its longest side wall formed an obtuse 
angle, from which circumstance it acquired the 
name of (i The Crooked House." A grove of 
pine trees had been planted by it, which had 
acquired a respectable size, and as no other 
trees grew in a considerable extent of country 
around it, they afforded crows a convenient 
place for nests, and thousands of these birds 
in the breeding season congregated in this 
grove, built their nests and reared their young 
there, and hence it acquired the name of ''The 

2 (9) 



IO AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

Crows' Planting." This cottage was the hum- 
ble and peaceful residence of my parents. 

My father, whose name was John, was 
brought up to the business of a shepherd, and 
was in the employment of Mr. William Daw- 
son, an enterprising farmer who introduced 
many improvements both in the culture of the 
soil and the management of stock in that 
country. My mother, whose maiden name 
was Agnes Gray, was, like my father, a child 
of that class of true nobility who support them- 
selves by honest labor, and I am prouder of 
my pedigree than if my ancestors had been of 
the highest rank, yet stained with those crimes 
and vices which, as history affirms, have so often 
darkened and disgraced the ranks of nobility 
and royalty. The social and internal regula- 
tions of our family are well described by Burns' 
in his "Cotter's Saturday Night." The incense 
of sincere devotion ascended daily from our 
humble cottage, and our parents carefully 
instructed the opening minds of their children 
in the principles of revealed religion. I had 
three sisters, and was their only boy, and I 
believe they were impartial in their endeavor to 
"train us all up in the way we should go." For 
myself, I am convinced that my parents' early 



JAMES SMITH. I I 

instructions and consistent example have laid 
the foundation for any real religion that has 
existed in my heart and life. My mother's 
serious scriptural instructions directed me to 
the Savior, even after her voice was stilled in 
death. She died when I was eight years of 
age, and I am now seventy-four ; yet I still 
seem to feel her warm breath on my cheek as 
she poured forth her earnest prayer for blessings 
on her boy while kneeling with me alone in 
some secluded retreat. 

My parents were both members of the Pres- 
byterian congregation, which was at that time 
under the pastoral care of the Rev. James 
Hogg, whose church edifice was in the village 
of Kelso. It was by this minister and in this 
edifice that my parents dedicated me to the 
Savior in baptism. They were esteemed by 
their acquaintances as consistent Christian pro- 
fessors who tried to advance the interests of 
religion by their example and conversation in 
the sphere of life which they occupied. I will 
mention a single instance of my father's reprov- 
ing intemperate passion and profanity, which, 
even when a duty, requires great moral firmness 
and prudence, tempered with good judgment. 
Mr. Dawson, whose sheep it was his business 



12 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

to tend, though a talented farmer and business 
man, often disregarded the rules of Christian 
morality in his walk and conversation. An 
infectious disease, producing frequent deaths, 
had attacked the large flock under my father's 
care. He attended them with almost sleepless 
assiduity, frequently separating the infected 
individuals from the flock, and applying all the 
known remedies faithfully, but still a number 
died daily. In this state of things, Dawson, 
with feelings irritated by the loss of his sheep, 
called upon my father and told him that "he 
must be either unfaithful to his charge or 
ignorant of his business," and working up his 
passion to an outrageous pitch, vented curses 
and imprecations against him. As soon as my 
father could be heard, he said with as much 
calmness as he could command : 

"Mr. Dawson, you are very foolish to talk 
so, for you know that you are but a mortal like 
myself, and have no power to damn me or 
anybody else. As to your sheep, I have faith- 
fully attended them night and day with my 
best ability ; and if you are not satisfied, give 
me a regular discharge, and I will give up the 
difficult task with pleasure." 

This speech stopped his scolding, and before 



JAMES SMITH. I 3 

he left, he begged my father to stay and con- 
tinue his exertions to save his sheep. He 
retained him as a shepherd as long as he 
remained in Scotland, and treated him with 
every mark of respect, and used no profane 
language in his presence, and when he was 
preparing to embark for America, befriended 
him in various ways, both with his money and 
influence. 

The flattering accounts sent back from time 
to time by those who had emigrated to Amer- 
ica, induced my father and his family to try 
their fortune in the new world. Their removal 
took place in the spring of 1795, when I was 
three and a half years of age. I have been 
told that, when starting from my native place, I 
was put in a carriage loaded with the family 
goods, and commenced singing in my own 
childish style and native dialect in words like 
these: "Ah, we'll niver see the cruckit heuse 
nor the craws' plantin' na mair, " repeating the 
words in a way that seemed prophetic of poetical 
tendencies ; and whether poetic or not, it was 
certainly prophetic, for there is every reason 
to believe that the prophecy will be fulfilled. 

We went by land to Greenoch, and sailed 
from there in the brig Apollo, Captain Hilton; 



14 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 01 

and after spending seven weeks on the ocean, 
landed at Boston Harbor some time in June. 
The celebration of Independence soon after 
our arrival, with its accompanying thunder of 
artillery, was to me a new and stirring scene, 
deeply impressed on my memory. 

Our family continued sixteen months in Bos- 
ton, my father engaging with a Mr. Tileston in 
digging wells and cellars, except in winter, 
when he procured a place in a shoemaking 
establishment, where he was employed in 
mending shoes during inclement weather. My 
mother, too, improved every opportunity that 
offered to increase the means of the family, by 
doing whatever jobs of woman's work she was 
qualified to perform and was able to secure, 
so that while living here, being blessed with 
health, their earnings exceeded their expenses 
by a handsome sum. But their governing 
desire had been, and still was, to purchase 
land in the country, so that their success in 
business did not make them content to remain 
permanently in the city. 

In compliance with an invitation from a Mr. 
Given, whose family had been fellow passengers 
across the Atlantic, and who had purchased a 
farm and settled in Westchester County, New 



JAMES SMITH. I 5 

York, sixteen miles from New York City, our 
family removed to that place, and my father 
engaged in the business of the farm. In the 
course of this journey, however, my mother, 
in consequence of exposure to the inclement 
season, took a heavy cold, which settled on 
her lungs and introduced her into a course of 
pulmonary consumption, from which she never 
entirely recovered. 

I was now about seven years of age, and it 
was here amidst the rural scenes of Westchester 
that I remember the first impressions of an 
admiring reverence for the sublime and beauti- 
ful in nature. A small stream ran near our 
residence, whose course was through a deep 
ravine. Its sides were studded with rocks and 
crowned and fringed with trees. Its waters 
were occasionally precipitated over the rocks, 
making beautiful cascades that sent forth har- 
monious music, the whole enlivened by the 
graceful forms and merry songs of birds — a 
place which became to me a favorite resort. 

My first entrance into a school-house was in 
this place, and I remember well the first day I 
attended. The house was a small structure, 
the walls being constructed of clay mingled 
with straw. A Mr. Lyon was the teacher. 



l6 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

He examined me, and found that I could read 
in the New Testament, my faithful mother having 
taught me in her leisure moments at home. A 
boy older than myself, who had been two years 
at school, but was very dull to learn, could not 
read his lesson. To shame him, the teacher 
bade me stand by him and tell him the words. 
I know not what effect this plan had on him, 
but I know its effect on me was to feed my 
vanity. 

Our stay at this place was not more than 
two years, when we removed to New York 
City, and lived on Greenwich Street, not much 
more than a mile from the Battery, and at that 
time on the outskirts of the city. Here we 
staid one summer, my father working as a day 
laborer, and I was hired out, for little more 
than my board, to turn a wheel for spinning 
rope yarn in a rope-walk, so called, where 
about a dozen other boys were employed. In 
the fall we took a voyage up the Hudson River 
as far as Catskill. This occupied a number of 
days, for steamboats were not yet introduced. 
Here father took a room in a building called 
" The Old Stone Jug," which stood alone near 
the lower end of the village. Here my mother 
lived about a month with her children, while 



JAMES SMITH. 1 7 

my father was making excursions into the coun- 
try west of Catskill for the purpose of securing 
a piece of land on which to establish a home 
for his family. A large tract of land in the 
County of Delaware, known as the Desbrosses 
Patent, attracted his attention on account of the 
easy terms granted to settlers. This attraction 
was sufficient to induce him to remove his 
family from Catskill to the house of John 
More, one of the first settlers of Delaware 
County, who lived on the spot now occupied 
by the village of Moresville. Here we staid a 
few weeks, until my father had located his 
future home. 

The tract of land referred to lay among the 
mountains where the head-springs of the Dela- 
ware River rise. It was principally covered 
with beech and maple forests. Desbrosses 
claimed to be its owner, and had it surveyed 
into one hundred acre lots, and leased it to 
tenants, giving them five years free of rent, 
after which they were expected to pay yearly 
twelve and a half cents per acre. Most of the 
lots were taken up when my father came, but 
he finally fixed on one near the head of Roses' 
Brook, in the town of Stamford. One part of 
this lot extended up the side of a mountain 



1 8 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

called in that neighborhood "The Old Clump," 
which formed a part of the dividing ridge 
between the east and west branches of the 
Delaware River. On this spot our family 
arrived late in the fall, and lived in a room of 
our nearest neighbor's house until father could 
build one on his own place, which took several 
weeks. The name of this neighbor was Joseph 
Baker. 

During all our late movements, made neces- 
sary to secure our home, my dear mother's 
health had been gradually declining ever since 
taking the fatal cold before referred to, so that 
when we took possession of our own home in 
the country, a situation she had greatly desired, 
relentless consumption had seated itself immov- 
ably upon her lungs. Still following her active 
habits of industry as much as her increasing 
weakness would allow, she continued to strug- 
gle on through the next summer. It was a 
summer of scarcity among the new settlers, and 
as our own family had become almost destitute 
of means, it required the exertion of all my 
father's strength to procure necessaries, and 
prepare a little land to put in a crop. Thus 
my father struggled against destitution and my 
mother against disease till they reached the end 



JAMES SMITH. 1 9 

of the summer in company, but the stroke of 
death separated them in the fall. My mother's 
mortal part, worn out by disease, sank into its 
original dust, and her spirit, prepared by Divine 
grace, joined her sister spirits in a happier 
world. 

But it was a sad bereavement to our family. 
My father thought it best to break up house- 
keeping for a time, as none of my sisters were 
yet old enough for housekeepers. The two 
oldest of the girls went into families to live, to 
render such assistance as they could, while I 
and my sister Nancy, five years younger than 
I, went to live in the family of a man who was 
a native of the same neighborhood in Scotland 
with my father, and who had settled upon the 
same patent in this country. But we sadly 
missed the tender care of a mother. We lived 
in this place about two years, and I was intro- 
duced to farming work in the summer, and 
went to school one winter, which about finished 
my going to school. All the additional literary 
knowledge I may have acquired has been 
gained by home study — by seizing and improv- 
ing broken fragments of time. 

Anxious to improve his lot and the interests 
of his family, my father soon recalled me to 



20 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

live with him, and I became boy of all work; 
at times laboring on the farm, and at times 
cooking and helping to keep the house. With- 
out playmates, my chief amusement was with 
my books, such as they were, and with pen, 
ink and paper. I spent many hours pleasantly 
alone in the chamber of our log cottage, study- 
ing parts of the Bible, taking stories from it 
and turning them into rustic verse, illustrated 
sometimes by a rude picture. After living 
some time in this way, my eldest sister joined 
us, fitted now by age and experience to be our 
housekeeper. During her administration, my 
father had his leg broken by the fall of a tree, 
while cutting trees to browse cattle when the 
fodder was nearly exhausted. He was obliged 
to lie forty days on his back with his leg in a 
box, before the broken parts were sufficiently 
knitted together to suffer removal. But he 
finally recovered, though in a somewhat crip- 
pled state, so as to be able to labor for a num- 
ber of years. The improvements on our farm, 
however, went on slowly. We chopped as 
much of the woods as we could each year, clear- 
ing it off in the fall, and sowing it with wheat. 
My love of nature and solitary rambles still 
continued, and in these I had a fine opportunity 



JAMES SMITH. 21 

to indulge, as the woods was the pasture for 
our cows, and it was my business to hunt them 
up every evening, directed only by the sound 
of a bell worn by one of them. I soon became 
thoroughly acquainted with all the mountains 
and valleys around our habitation, covered at 
that time with their primeval forests. But 
"The Old Clump" was the chief object of my 
attraction, its top being then bald of timber, 
and the view from it an extensive and noble 
one. To the east and south mountains peered 
beyond mountains, until their far distant tops 
met the blue sky. To the west and north 
the view was less rugged and sublime, but 
as extensive and beautiful, and the valley of 
Roses' Brook was spread out to view like a 
map, from its springs to where its waters min- 
gled with the Delaware. 

Amid such scenes it is not strange that I 
should feel at times the poetic inspiration, and, 
indeed, from my earliest years I have had sea- 
sons of such inspiration, which, however, a 
natural diffidence and the circumstances of mv 
life have kept me from improving, though they 
were not able to quench an ardent desire to 
improve all my faculties, and acquire a thorough 
knowledge of science and general literature. 



22 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

With an earnest desire for knowledge, however, 
it seemed to be a duty for me to remain with 
my father and help him in the labor of the 
farm. He was now in a crippled condition, his 
lungs, too, affected by disease, and his health 
delicate, so that our united labors barely sup- 
ported the family, which now consisted of four 
persons ; my father, two sisters and myself. I 
therefore gave up all thoughts of school, my 
sole means of mental improvement being the 
study of the few books which at that time I 
was able to procure. 

About this time I became conscious of the 
possession of another passion besides the love 
of literature. I became acquainted with a 
young woman of beautiful form and features, 
the moral beauty of whose mind I became 
convinced was fully equal to that of the body. 
She was the daughter of a family descended 
on her father's side from that band of Pilgrims 
who landed at Plymouth Rock. To be brief, 
this person became my companion through 
life. 

While attending the ministrations of Rev. 
Robert Forest, second minister of the First 
Presbyterian Church of Stamford, New York, 
I became thoroughly convinced of the entire 



JAMES SMITH. 23 

reasonableness, the complete fitness and the 
perfect adaptedness of the gospel for the 
salvation of our sinful race, a system suited to 
raise the humble believer from a state of con- 
demnation to a state of friendship with God, 
and restore him to that course of progressive 
perfection from which the race had fallen. I 
felt my personal need of the blessings of this 
system of love and mercy as never before, and 
was enabled to accept the great gift freely offered 
in the gospel with simple faith, and place myself 
unreservedly in the hands of that Savior whose 
righteousness, wrought out for sinners, is per- 
fect and complete, and I am happy to add that 
my dear wife soon joined me in this Christian 
course, which we have been able, through 
Divine grace, to pursue steadily through the 
varying scenes we have passed. And we 
would say to all who may read these humble 
lines : If you would be happy, live a life of faith 
in the Savior, and let your conduct be gov- 
erned by the principle of Christian love. 

It was at an early age that I first formed my 
political sentiments. The Federal and Demo- 
cratic were the ruling parties of the day ; and 
my father, soon after coming to this country, 
united himself with the Federal party, proba- 



24 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

bly because he believed its principles to be 
congenial with the politics of his native land. 
The nearest point at that time, where a news- 
paper was printed, was at Kingston, Ulster 
County, fifty miles distant. Two papers were 
published there; "The Plebian," Democratic, 
by Jesse Buel, and "The Ulster Gazette, " 
Federal, by Samuel S. Freer. A man on 
horseback brought them through Delaware 
County once a week. My father took the 
"Gazette" and our nearest neighbor, Mr. 
Daniel Hotchkiss, took the "Plebian." I had 
before formed a considerable taste for reading, 
and wished to acquire as enlarged a view as 
possible of the political sentiments of the coun- 
try which I had learned to love as ardently as if 
I had been a native. Mr. Hotchkiss kindly lent 
me the " Plebian," and I perceived, by reading 
the editorials of both papers and the extracts 
they contained from the leading political jour- 
nals and from the speeches of prominent poli- 
ticians of both parties, that the principles and 
favorite measures of these parties w r ere freely 
and honestly discussed in these papers. I 
soon made an arrangement with our neighbor 
Hotchkiss to exchange the papers, which gave 
me a good opportunity to read them both, 



JAMES SMITH. 25 

which I faithfully improved, and I think without 
prejudice. 

I became gradually convinced that the funda- 
mental principles advocated by the Democratic 
party were most favorable to rational liberty 
and the impartial government of the people. 
This party regarded all men more on a level, 
and professed to exercise equal care and atten- 
tion to the interests and happiness of all without 
partiality to any class. This reason told me 
was the true object of political science, and 
that a system whose principles were Calculated 
to secure that object was the system, other 
things being equal, which every member of 
the community should support. When I 
further observed that the Federal paper seemed 
inclined to advocate principles that favored 
a particular class, and to centralize in some 
measure the governing power, which should be 
retained in the hands of the people and exer- 
cised by them at the polls, the observation 
confirmed me still more in preferring Demo- 
cratic principles as the true system of govern- 
ment. The poor, the weak and the ignorant 
certainly need the favor of the governing power 
as much as the rich and learned ; and as the 
Democratic system seemed to aim at extending 
3 



2 6 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 

this favor to them, and to guard by its funda- 
mental principles its own administrators from 
favoring the rich more than the poor, with an 
apparent tendency in the opposite direction in 
the Federal system, I became fully and honestly 
confirmed in receiving the Democratic principles 
as the true system of politics. 

Allow me, before dismissing the subject of 
politics, to advise all who exercise the right of 
suffrage to maintain perfect independence in 
voting. A well-informed citizen, governed by 
good moral principle, can not be bought at any 
price; but such a one may be led astray by 
following subserviently the lead of a party. I 
have lived to see political parties, based on the 
purest principles of liberty and equality, per- 
verted and corrupted to favor aristocracy and 
despotism. Let our citizens make principles, 
and not party, their leading star in politics, 
and on this foundation they can remain firm 
amidst the conflict of parties. 

It would probably be uninteresting to my 
descendants to trace my progress as a farmer 
for a number of years after my father's death, 
which took place the next year after my mar- 
riage. I continued to occupy the same farm 
on which he settled, and as he had been for a 



JAMES SMITH. 27 

number of years quite sickly, I found a variety 
of debts against the estate, which by a steady 
course of industry I was enabled to pay off. 
By the blessing of Providence on years of 
hard labor and strict economy on my bleak 
mountain farm, the forest was cleared, chiefly 
by my own labor, by chopping four or five 
acres in the winter, and logging them off and 
sowing the next summer. But the most inter- 
esting business was the rearing of our family. 
Our children were all born on this mountain 
farm, eleven in number; the two oldest and the 
two youngest boys, and the rest girls. The law 
regulating common schools in the State of 
New York was adopted about the time of our 
marriage, and one of the district school-houses 
was located near us, which offered a favorable 
opportunity for the early education of our 
children. 

* * * * * * * * * 
I have already intimated that from an early 
age I took a deep interest in poetry. I do not 
call that interest a talent, but perhaps only a 
fondness for it ; yet it is true that 

" Amaist as soon as I could spel], 
1 to the cram ho- jingle fell, 
Though rude and rough ;" 



28 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JAMES SMITH. 

and as soon as I was able to read and write, I 
took pleasure in reading poetry and trying to 
form couplets of my own. As a number of 
these home-made effusions still remain among 
my papers, and, however imperfect, may prove 
of interest to some of my descendants, I have 
decided to collect a few of them for their perusal 
or that of any who may wish to examine them. 
1867. James Smith. 



POEMS, by JAMES SMITH. 



THE FARMER. 

As I walked out on one bright summer morn- 
ing, 
The hills and the fields looked pleasant and 
fair ; 
The lily and daisy the meadows adorning, 

With joy I inhaled the pure health-giving air. 
Phoebus darted his rays o'er the land and the 

ocean, 
Farmers went to their labor with cheerful devo- 
tion, 
And my soul, it was filled with a rapturous 

emotion, 
As I thought of the lot of the farmer so free ! 

O thrice happy farmer ! who goes uncontrolled 

By masters or lords to his own fertile fields, 

And by sweet singing birds he is gaily caroled, 

As he nurtures the products that kind nature 

yields; 

(29) 



30 POEMS BY 

The pure, gentle zephyrs blow softly around 

him, 
No rude care or trouble appears to confound 

him, 
No lawless assassin arises to wound him, 
As he treads his own acres, a farmer so free. 

Columbia may boast of her proud social station, 
So largely composed of her farmers so free; 
In solid enjoyment there's no other nation, 

O much favored land, that is equal to thee ; 
From our dwellings the calm voice of gladness 

is sounding, 
With comfort and plenty our houses surround- 
ing. 
Our fields with the bounties of nature abound- 
ing, 
Rejoice and make happy the farmer so free. 
1808. 



JAMES SMITH. 3 I 



A PRAYER. 

[Written at a time when the first Buonaparte was at the 
height of his career in Europe, and faction was running 
high in America, and the danger of our nation being drawn 
into war was imminent.] 

Almighty and eternal Lord ! 

Whose holy, wise and sovereign sway 
All nature owns, and at thy word 

The nations of the earth obey. 
Thou makest the empires of the world 

To dash like froth on ocean's wave ; 
While some, from Glory's summit hurled, 

Thou buriest in Oblivion's cave. 
And if thou wilt, thou can'st them save 

From war, and make all strife to cease ; 
Change bloody storms that madly rave, 

Into the gentle reign of peace. 
Come thou, Creation's glorious Sire, 

And bless our still dependent land ; 
Thou who didst grant our strong desire, 

And free us from Oppression's hand. 
By thine own power thou didst release 

Our land from Albion's heavy chain ; 
And thou hast given us rich increase, 

In peace and happiness to reign. 



$2 POEMS 1;\ 

Dispel, O Lord, the threatening cloud 

That overspreads our nation's sky; 
Let Reason's voice resound aloud, 

And peace and freedom still be nigh. 
But if we're drawn by many a wrong 

Into the vortex of the storm, 
The rights that do to us belong, 

Oh, guard with thine almighty arm. 
In every dark and trying hour, 

Warm all our hearts with patriot fire ; 
And send thy spirit-stirring power, 

Our hearts with courage to inspire. 
Oh, paralyze proud Faction's hand, 

That fain would ruin our domain, 
And longs to break the peaceful band, 

Whereby our union we maintain. 
Forgive the many crimes, O Lord, 

Committed in our guilt}* land ; 
Direct our councils by thy word, 

And lead our rulers by thy hand. 
1810. 



JAMES SMITH. 33 

THE BOOK OF HUMAN LIFE. 
Life is a volume, every day a leaf, 
On each of which we find some joy or grief. 
On every page the Maker's stamp we view, 
And to his glory every page is due. 
Although this Book fills every mortal hand, 
There's few can read, and fewer understand; 
And though upon each page their eyes they 

place, 
Mists often fill the intervening space, 
And through a medium false their glances fly, 
Till sense seems nonsense to their 'wildered eye. 
And if Philosophy should strive to clear 
Those mists away, and make the truth appear, 
Then Folly comes, and holds her lying glass 
Sly and unnoticed full before their face ; 
Whose magic power distorting every line, 
Bids Error as the highest wisdom shine. 
Alas ! their case the thoughtful soul must 

wound, 
Can no effectual remedy be found ? 
" There can," methinks a voice celestial cries, 
While heavenly radiance issues from the skies. 
The Great Supreme, dispelling doubt and strife 
Reveals to mortal man the light of life ; 
And Revelation, brightening every line, 
Bids Life's fair Book with fresh instruction shine. 



34 POEMS BY 



A DESCRIPTION 

Of a violent storm of wind and rain at the Pres- 
byterian Church in Stamford, Delaware 
County, New York, while the Rev. 
Wm. McAuley was conducting 
the services. 

Calm rose the morning, though the sullen clouds 
Hung low and lurid o'er the neighboring hills. 
Scarcely a breeze disturbed the air below, 
When from their peaceful homes the Christians 

round 
Resorted to the temple, there to join 
In sweet devotion to the Great Supreme, 
And celebrate his wondrous love to man. 
There all in mute attention listening sat, 
To hear the gospel from their pastor's lips. 
As yet the hovering vapors dropped their stores 
In genial showers, but soon the gentle fall 
Impelled was driven obliquely thro' the air 
By strong and sudden blasts of stormy wind, 
Like war-like scouts of some invading foe, 
Whose powerful forces following close behind, 
Would scatter ruin and destruction round. 



JAMES SMITH. 35 

And now the angry tempest opened wide 
Its horrid cave, and direful forces sent 
To rage with sweep terrific o'er the hills 
And flooded vales ; the swift-descending rain, 
Poured from the ample flood-gates of the skies, 
On pinions of the raging storm below, 
Rushed like a torrent round the sacred pile 
'Mid roar of thunder ; its firm basis shook, 
And loaded galleries rocked like leafy boughs 
Swayed by the breeze of summer. Spouting 

streams 
Of mingled elements poured thro' shattered 

panes, 
And seemed surcharged with electric fire. 
Then did the massive timbers shake and bow 
Before the storm, and threaten sudden fall 
Upon the numerous throng assembled there. 
Some gaze with terror on the creaking joints, 
And many haste from danger seeming near 
To seek a safer station. The meanwhile, 
Kind Providence protects the trembling crowd, 
The fury of the storm at length is spent, 
And peace succeeds the terrors of an hour. 



36 POEMS BY 

LINES 

Written in the Autumn of 1820, after a busy summer 
on the farm. 

Long has my bashful muse in silence slept, 

Not even the lonely shade hath heard her 
song ; 
Over her strings, inactive, silence crept, 

While Summer with its business moved along. 
Now squally Autumn with his tempests bring 

A leisure hour, and pleased I call to mind 
How I, when young and lonely, loved to sing 

A home-made lay, though rude and unrefined. 
Oh, then, how eager was the wish to stray 

In learned walks and nurse the growing mind, 
Till I with perfect skill might tune my lay, 

Or trace each mental path my will inclined. 
But vain the wish ; stern Poverty forbade 

Me e'er to stray where genial Science shines, 
And bound my steps to this secluded shade, 

Where needful toil each ardent wish confines. 
No doubt 'tis best I thus should spend my days, 

Else righteous Heaven had not decreed it so; 
Now, while Religion cheers my devious ways, 

I would not, for the world, this shade forego. 
For though my muse, unnoticed, sing the hours, 

Then hide her songs within my humble tomb, 
I know with stronger wing these tuneful powers 

Shall soar and sing" in an eternal home. 



JAMES SMITH. 37 

THE SCENE AT THE DOOR OF 
THE COT. 

[Written on the occasion of a gathering of friends at the 
door of his cottage, on the western slope of <• The Old 
Clump," where his home was located.] 

The blush of the evening had painted the west, 

And shed a mild light on the green mountain's 

breast ; 
The scene was enchanting, as if 'twere designed 
To tune for delight every chord of the mind. 
At the door of a cot with tranquility blest, 

Encircled by friends that were dear to my 
breast, 

There happy we sat, while the murmuring flow 

Of Roses' Brook silvered the valley below. 

The pleasure-winged moments flew swiftly 
away, 

Till the west had forgotten the bright crimson 
ray ; 

But still, how exhaustless the sweets of the feast, 
For now fairer glories adorned the east. 
Old Clump's glowing summit attracted our sight, 
Where clouds edged with silver were floating 
in light, 

And the hill-crowning trees, while delighted we 
gaze, 

Seemed kindling and lost in the silvery blaze ! 

'Twas the moon in her splendor ascending the 
sky, 



38 POEMS BY 

How beauteous she shone from the mountain- 
top high ! 

Time, thou rude tyrant, thou never shalt blot, 
From my memory the scene at the door of the 

cot! 
44 How great," we exclaimed, "the Creator 

must be, 
Who formed in their glory the beauties we see ; 
The moon all resplendent and every bright star 
Sing loudly, in silence, his praises afar. 
How dark were the mountains before she arose; 
Now, clothed with mild lustre, the whole land- 
scape glows ! 
So Pietv rises o'er mountains of care, 
And drives off the darkness of gloomy despair. " 
Oh, lives there a mortal to folly resigned, 
Who can turn with disdain from the feast of 

the mind. 
How base are his pleasures, how sudden their 
flight ; 

1 never will envy his brutish delight. 

But virtue and friendship the bosom can warm ; 
Beneath their sweet influence all nature can 

charm, 
Oh, the pleasing remembrance time never can 

blot, 
Of the sweets I enjoyed at the door of the cot. 
1819. 



JAMES SMITH. 39 



THE DELAWARE SONG. 

Ye fair and ye brave who reside by the fountains 
Where Delaware's waters first shine in the 
sun, 
Attend while I sing of your forests and moun- 
tains, 
Whose richness and beauty can ne'er be 
outdone ! 

Here, spread all around me in beauteous confu- 
sion, 
Hills, vales, fields and woodlands and glitter- 
ing streams lie ; 
While far in the distance, in splendid delusion, 
The lofty blue mountains seem bearing the 
sky. 

'Tis scarce fifty summers since this checker'd 
landscape 
With forest was covered o'er mountain and 
dell; 
Whose shades only echoed the scream of the 
panther, 
The howl of the wolf, or the Indian's dread 
yell. 



4-0 POEMS BY 

How changed is the scene! Now each beautiful 
valley 
Is smiling' with meadows where crystal streams 
flow, 
And thoroughfares skirted with orchards and 
buildings : 
Thus Art teaches Nature with beauty to glow. 

No proud, lordly castles appear in the distance, 

Nor hovels of benders to Tyranny's nod ; 
Each man is a lord without Splendor's assist- 
ance, 
And bows him alone at the throne of his 
God. 

For Liberty sent from the fair Court of Heaven, 
Hath always presided o'er Delaware's sons ; 

Her free inspiration the impulse hath given, 
That Tyranny's minions so vastly outruns ! 

And see, the bright spires of Jehovah's fair 
temples 
Are vying in height with the neighboring 
hills ; 
And here pure Religion, all peaceful and dove- 
like, 
Leads heavenward to soften life's numerous 
ills. 



JAMES SMITH. 41 

THE ADVENTURES OF A STRAY 
LEAF. 

[The author of this note is the subject of the poem, and 
is personified by the leaf whose wanderings are recorded. 
Having been appointed temporary editor of "The Stray 
Leaf," a periodical issued in manuscript for the benefit of 
the students of Delaware Literary Institute at Franklin, 
New York, he had requested his father to contribute to it, 
and this piece is in answer to that request. He left home to 
teach in a neighboring county, and afterward returned to 
attend the Franklin School, and to these circumstances the 
wanderings of the "Leaf" refer.— J. R. S.] 

Twas on a maple's verdant bough that graced 

a stately hill, 
Whose base was washed by Roses' Brook, a 

sparkling crystal rill, 
I first unrolled my infant green beneath the 

skies of May, 
The robin sang, the sunbeam smiled, and all the 

world was gay ; 
But soon I felt a sad reverse that shook my 

tender form, 
When chilled by winter's lingering air or pelted 

by the storm, 
Till cruel frost, one night in June, in icy terror 

frowned, 



42 POEMS BY 

Severed me from my parent tree and threw me 

on the ground. 
Withering in hopeless grief I lay, till from " the 

cold northwest, 
A bitter blast" blew me away across the 

mountain's breast. 
In vain I sought the sheltered side of hillock, 

tree or stone, 
'Twas but a momentary rest — the winds still 

urged me on ; 
Away from Delaware's green vales, o'er Pine 

Hill's woody top, 
And down the Esopus' narrow vale, with 

trundle, leap or hop, 
And o'er the hills and thro' the dales to where 

the Rondout stream 
Flows thro' the broad and fertile plains where 

yellow harvests teem. 
But time would fail to tell how oft I slipped 

thro' danger's jaws, 
Or how I barely 'scaped my fate beneath a 

tigress' paws;* 
Or how I proved the sterling worth of many a 

Dutchman's heart, 
When he with hospitable hand performed the 

friendly part. 

*See " Sorrows of a Pedagogue." 



JAMES SMITH. 43 

At length a kindlier wind arose, born of the 

south's warm beams, 
Which wafted me right briskly back across my 

native streams. 
And sure, the Ruler of the wind has been 

supremely good ; 
Borne on its wings I've soared aloft safe o'er 

each threatening flood. 
And now I'm harbored in a place which bears 

that sage's name 
Who first drew lightning from the cloud and 

roused the patriot's flame. 
And here a youthful twig is set of that celestial 

tree, 
Whose fruit exalts mankind to be enlightened, 

great and free. 
On Nilus' banks that sacred tree first flourished 

bright and fair, 
Whence healthful sprouts to Grecia's vales were 

borne with pious care, 
Next, planted by the Tiber's stream, it blest 

Italia's soil, 
And gradual spread thro' Europe's fields to 

Britain's sea-girt isle. 
It lived thro' Barbarism's frost and Supersti- 
tion's blight, 



44 POEMS BY 

And cultured rose on Britain's plains in fruit 

and foliage bright; 
And to Columbia's wood-fringed shore o'er 

wide Atlanta's sea, 
Young hopeful shoots its friends conveyed of 

that celestial tree. 
Columbia's children shout with joy when these 

exotics come ; 
Her native forests melt away to make them 

ample room. 
And now thro' all her happy vales these sacred 

plants arise, 
They spread their leaves and bear their fruit 

beneath congenial skies. 
To feeding the material frame their fruits are 

not confined ; 
But like the fruits* of heavenly fields they feed 

the immortal mind. 
And here its friends a twig* have set, and 

watered it with tears, 
And prayed that Heaven might bless its growth 

thro' many future years. 
And even now the blessing comes, its boughs 

begin to spread, 
Luxuriant, where the Ouleout flows along its 

pebbly bed. 

^Delaware Literary Institute, Franklin, New York. 



JAMES SMITH. 45 

And, strange to tell, they say that I must have 

my native green 
Restored, and 'mid these growing leaves assist 

the joyous scene. 
But sure, 'twill be a wondrous change; a maple 

leaf like me, 
And withered too, to live and grow on such a 

sacred tree! 
But whether this be true or not, a change must 

come to me, 
When blown across the bounds of time into 

eternity, 
Engrafted on the Tree of Life, may I its foliage 

join, 
And while heaven's endless day moves on, in 

growing verdure shine. 



46 POEMS BY 

TO A FRIEND WHO HAD COMMENDED 
HIS VERSES. 

Thanks to thee, friend, for the kind word you 

grant my humble lays ; 
Like Burns, my highest meed is still a friend's 

esteem and praise. 
A single word from Friendship's lips, for friendly 

purpose told, 
Can thrill the soul with more delight than heaps 

of sordid gold. 
My lungs first breathed the vital air old Scotia's 

hills among, 
Where streams all murmur minstrelsy and 

breezes sigh in song. 
Then Fate encircled me with scenes of true 

poetic pride, 
Amidst the hills of Delaware, on Old Clump's 

shaggy side ; 
Where woody mountains, winding vales, and 

crystal floods appear ; 
Where tropic heats and arctic colds alternate 

rule the year. 
I strung my harp with mountain strings, and 

poured the rustic song, 
And smiled to hear its echoes play the rocks 

and hills among. 



JAMES SMITH. 47 

'Twas Nature and fair Nature's God, my ardent 

lay addressed, 
And oft dear Freedom's patriot flame inspired 

my youthful breast; 
And when I heard the song of some more 

favored kindred mind, 
My pride was 'roused ; I felt my lay was rude 

and unrefined. 
I longed to go where Science bright doth her 

adorers bless, 
That I might clothe my rustic muse in Learn- 
ing's fairest dress ; 
But while I wished and longed to fly where 

lights of science shine, 
Lo ! on the vernal clouds of May appeared a 

form divine ! 
His flowing robe of radiance mild was from the 

stores above, 
And by the glances of his eye I knew that form 

was Love. 
He hovered round me with a smile might cure 

all mortal woe, 
And came unto my humble cot and begged me 

not to go. 
My former wishes and my plans were banished 

and forgot, 



48 POEMS BY 

I only wished to live with Love within my hum- 
ble cot. 
Hours, days and months unheeded flew on 

radiant angel wings, 
I sipped with Love the streams of joy from 

Heaven's own crystal springs; 
And strange to tell, beneath the folds of his 

bright drapery 
I found a troop of boys and girls, the very imps 

of me. 
Their little hands about my knees with purest 

fondness hung, 
And sued for aid and guardian care with prat" 

tling, artless tongue. 
And with delight for them I broke the stubborn 

mountain soil, 
And thence supplied their simple wants with 

unremitting toil ; 
And oft the muse to cheer my toil would tune 

her artless lyre, 
And kindly w r arm a farmer's heart with her 

poetic fire. 
And I with partial ear was pleased, and madly 

thought her lay 
Might please a city critic's ear in this fastidious 

day. 



JAMES SMITH. 49 

But disappointment was our lot, and so my 

muse took flight, 
To where a shingly ledge adorned the moun- 
tain's western height ; 
And there upon a moss-fringed birch, the rocky 

pile that crowned, 
Sat like a moody, sullen hawk till autumn 

gloomed around. 
I tried in vain each art to win her from this 

scene away, 
Until with proper spirit fired, I said, (i Sweet 

Crony, stay. 
There you may feast on spirit sighs, as on the 

winds they pass ; 
I'll go to seek more solid joys in growing grain 

and grass." 
I seized my ax, and made the woods thro' all its 

shades resound, , 

Till many a beech and maple lay in death-like 

silence round. 
When bowed his sturdy forest sons, Old 

Clump would loudly groan, 
And echo gave the mountain-tops a voice to 

join the moan. 
And when Sol dried the leafy boughs, I bade 

the flames arise, 



50 POEMS BY 

Which like a crater's volume dense rolled 

upward to the skies ; 
Then piling up the massive logs, I made the 

face of night 
Shine with their beacons on our hill like con- 
stellations bright. 
My sharp-toothed harrow ruthlessly tore up the 

virgin soil, 
And waving fields of wheat and rye repaid my 

ardent toil. 
My sturdy team broke every root that crossed 

the ploughshare's way, 
And crops of oats and barley smiled in Phoebus' 

ripening ray. 
Then Agriculture's noble lamp shone far with 

brightening rays, 
For Buel trimmed its fading light and made it 

brighter blaze. 
Respected Sage ! my opening mind in boy- 
hood's tender age 
First drank the patriotic stream pure from 

thy " Plebiari s " page. 
I read thy " Cultivator" o'er with pleasure and 

with care, 
And tried to profit by the rules I found recorded 

there. 



JAMES SMITH. 51 

I strove to keep my well-fenced fields all rich 

and dry and clean, 
While rotary cropping, year by year, diversified 

the scene. 
Among the Old Clump's crystal springs my 

half-blood Saxons strayed, 
And noble cows, with udders full, their milky 

stores displayed. 
I turned the waves of Roses' Brook to churn 

the creamy flood, 
And pails of buttermilk supplied my Berkshire 

porker's good. 
Our mountain cot became a house upon the 

southern slope, 
And love still blest its larger rooms, and often 

joy and hope, 
And piety on dove-like wings, descending from 

above, 
Refined and strengthened the sweet reign of 

heavenly joy and love. 
Now, when I heard your friendly voice speak 

well-intended praise, 
The moody muse was roused to sing a song of 

other days ; 
But I must clip her wing, that would to Fancy's 

regions soar, 



S 2 POEMS BY JAMES SMITH. 

For nothing suits the present age but sordid, 
golden store ; 

And yet, if I could serve my age in some effec- 
tual way, 

Even life itself, to gain that end, were small to 
give away. 

When I review my by-past hours, alas ! how 
vain they seem ! 

Like to the fancy-painted scenes of some delu- 
sive dream ; 

But I will cut my story short with this reflection 
wise, 

The honest friend to whom I write will not my 
lay despise. 



PART II. 

POEMS 

OF 

J. R. SMITH 



"0 joy! that iu our embers 
Is something that doth live, 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive." 

— Wordsworth. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

Uncle Sam, an Allegory 57 

Address to the Comet 103 

Far from Home 106 

Sorrows of a Pedagogue 107 

On a Mouse 109 

The Errand of Charity Ill 

Hospitality 113 

The Aborigines 114 

The Progress of Liberty 119 

The Bird Convention 125 

The Bridges of Plum Kiver 133 

Uncle Sam among the Spirits 139 

The Celebration 148 

A Fancy Sketch 1 53 

Fame 157 

Beauty 16] 

Home 162 

Friendship 1 64 

(55) 



56 CONTENTS. 

PAGK. 

Dawn 166 

Ox Receiving a Brother 3 rRE. 168 

i?le to V. B. Webster Esq 176 

The Atheist's Hymn .180 

The Mountain Spring 182 

The Spellbound 1 83 

John Milton 186 

Robert Burns 188 

Battle of Kennesaw Mountain 190 

The Battle of Schacksville 192 

The Drunkard's Address to His Bottle 196 

James A. Garfield 199 

Which of the Twain? 201 

On the Close of Life 202 



POEMS, by J. R. SMITH. 



UNCLE SAM. 

AN ALLEGORICAL DESCRIPTION OF OUR NATIONAL CHAR. 

ACTERISTICS AND CERTAIN INCIDENTS OF 

AMERICAN HISTORY IN RHYME. 

I. 

There lives a man, no matter where, 
Nor shall we tarry to declare 
His birthplace, pedigree or nation, 
Or whether high or low his station ; 
Indian or Saxon, Turk or Jew ; 
Yet one thing of this man was true : 
Although in words he scouted bigamy, 
In practice he allowed polygamy ; 
And when he came to man's estate, 
Was not content with a single mate ; 
But what all Christian rule surpasses, 
He married thirteen buxom lasses; 
All joined to him in close connection, 
Of different features and complexion, 
And diverse too in acquisitions, 
Tempers and tastes and dispositions. 

(57) 



58 POEMS BY 

So, if he were a Christian man. 

He lived upon the Turkish plan ; 

Like Turk exulting in supplies 

Of beauty from some scores of eyes, 

And taking refuge from life's storms 

Amidst a bevy of fair forms, 

Like travelers when gales intrude, 

Who seek the shelter of a wood, 

Or like our Mormon saints, who take 

To such fair covert at Salt Lake, 

And do in pure Religion's name 

What might make sinners blush for shame ! 

But, reader, do not be too critical, 

Since his polygamy was political. 

ii. 

As he was rich in stream and wood, 

Rivers and lakes and acres broad, 

He gave each spouse with liberal hand 

A princely bridal gift of land, 

And built for each a mansion grand, 

Supplied with servants, flocks and herds, 

And all domestic beasts and birds ; 

That each with cares of small amount 

Might live upon her own account, 

While their fond lord had naught to do 

But pass among them to and fro, 



J. R. SMITH. 

To soothe their sorrows, cares and pains, 

And share their joys and count their gains; 

So passing around, to be explicit, 

He paid them each a yearly visit, 

With clerks to help him calculate 

The income of his big estate. 

Thus long our hero lived in peace, 

And saw his family increase 

At strides that only find expression 

In arithmetical progression ! 

in. 

A merry man he was reputed ; 
A fact I've never heard disputed. 
In humor and conviviality 
He was a blade of sterling quality, 
Who loved a story or a song, 
And could spin yarns a half mile long, 
And never showed his memory brittle 
When he could find a stick to whittle. 
He also, when the sign was right, 
Would take a rough-and-tumble fight, 
Indulge at times the social dance, 
Or try his hand at games of chance ; 
And never deemed the sport a sin, 
If he could only play to win. 
For 'twas his object, let me say, 
Whate'er he did, to make it pay. 



59 



60 POEMS BV 

Though liberal, yet acquisition 
Was stamped upon his disposition. 
He loved to count his coins and stocks, 
And hear the clink of Mammon's box. 
Yet Avarice never dwarfed his soul, 
Since it was held in stern control 
By qualities more noble far, 
Which with it held eternal war. 
Good nature, wit and love of friends 
For many faults might make amends. 
Gladly he opened wide his hand 
At every charitable demand, 
While wider still, as flower to sun, 
His soul would ope at chance for fun, 
And when well pleased at anything 
His laughter made the forests ring, 
And mountains trembled all around — 
Proof his good nature was profound. 

Sometimes, I'm sorry to declare, 
He has been known to drink and swear, 
And smoke and chew*a vulgar weed, 
The product of Satanic seed ; 
When fiery passion filled his breast, 
Then would he storm like one possessed. 
But had he faults? They're shared by all, 
His virtues were not few nor small ; 



J. R. SMITH. 6l 

He loved his friends, as the world goes, 
And he was generous to his foes ; 
Of common sense he had his share, 
Though manners he had none to spare ; 
Republican in politics 
And versed in politicians' tricks, 
He knew enough to hold his own 
Against the scepter and the throne, 
And even from childhood one could see 
In him a love of liberty. 
Nursed amid Nature's scenes sublime, 
He grew the noblest child of Time. 
And like young Hercules in fable, 
Who strangled serpents in his cradle ; 
So our young hero rent the bands 
Made to confine his infant hands; 
And of his future greatness proof, 
Bade purple tyrants stand aloof. 

iv. 

He was no Atheist in religion, 
Although his various creeds were legion ; 
For as he deemed the choice but small, 
Between the sects, he chose them all, 
Nursing like Rome 'mid ancient nations, 
A Pantheon of denominations. 
'Tis said at first he was tyrannical, 



62 POEMS BY 

Intolerant and puritanical ; 

But being convinced in early youth 

That force could not establish truth, 

That hanging Quakers was but cruel, 

And witches made indifferent fuel ; 

He, being wiser grown, they say 

Cast such vain practices away. 

One Scripture he fulfilled, 'tis plain, 

For he took homeless strangers in, 

Assigning each his rank and place 

By the complexion of his face. 

White men could wander forth at will ; 

Red men he'd civilize or kill ; 

Black men his pleasure must fulfill ; 

For the black man, our hero said, 

Had Canaan's curse upon his head, 

And 'twas his mission, so Heaven willed, 

To see this ancient curse fulfilled ; 

Therefore he caused the sable race 

To take the abject bondman's place, 

For he deemed, to toil and serve with rigor, 

Was good enough for any nigger. 

These notions you can plainly see 
Savored of aristocracy ; 
And yet, deny it no one can, 
Our hero was a generous man. 
His hospitality was so fine, 



J. R. SMITH. 63 

He asked the whole world in to dine ; 
Nor seemed to care, he was so clever, 
If all his guests should stay forever. 
And so it chanced that Turk and Jew, 
And Scotch, and Dutch, and Irish too, 
Europa's children, scores on scores, 
Flocked to his hospitable shores ; 
And Afric's sons of feature sable 
Were kept to wait upon his table, 
To drive his coach, to hoe his corn, 
And other industries adorn. 
Thousands he had of girls and boys, 
Famous for rowdyism and noise ; 
Thousands of darkies came and went 
Within his big establishment. 
So with his wealth you'll understand 
He was a great man in the land ; 
Greater, if you'll believe my story, 
Than Solomon in all his glory ; 
And now, if you would know his name, 
His neighbors called him " Uncle Sam ; ' 
Though I must add with truthful pen 
He had a longer cognomen, 
Which he would sport on great occasions 
When he did business 'mong the nations, 
As men at church wear broadcloth sleek, 
Who have worn home-spun all the week. 



64 POEMS BY 

V. 

Now Sam was young and tall in stature, 

And rich ; yet such is human nature, 

At intervals he underwent 

The hidden ills of discontent, 

And sought to conquer the disease 

By means that could not give him ease. 

From time to time more wives he wed, 

As interest or fancy led, 

And to provide estates for each 

Seized all the lands within his reach, 

Driving the owners far away, 

Some with and some without their pay. 

"Red men," he said, with frank confession, 

" Have the priority of possession ; 

Yet they are savages at best, 

And therefore must go farther west. 

Israel drove out the Canaanites. 

And therefore red men have no rights ; 

And further, you will understand, 

The saints must occupy the land. 

Now I have tried to make 'em work, 

But found them dreadful hands to shirk, 

And as I've power their pride to humble, 

The pesky red-skins needn't grumble ; 

For if with blacks I can not mate 'em, 



J. R. SMITH. 65 

I can at least annihilate 'em ; 
And if their lands they will not till 
And occupy, I know who will." 

So, lord of all his eye could see, 
Our hero triumphed gloriously, 
And saw with ample joy and pride 
His wealth increase on every side ; 
And sons and daughters multiplied, 
Thick as the stars in upper sky. 

But joy and peace, like earthly flowers, 
Are transient in this world of ours, 
And wealth secured by oppression 
Proves a precarious possession ; 
Beauty is vain, and fame a bubble, 
And Uncle Sam got into trouble, 
And I who write this faithful history 
Would to your view unveil the mystery. 

VI. 

Some children of the sable race 
Within his borders found a place, 
Who had been brought from Afric's wild 
While yet our hero was a child ; 
A part of young Virginia's dower* 



"^Slaves first brought to the colony of Virginia (see U. S, 
History). 



66 POEMS BY 

Bestowed in some unlucky hour, 
And Sam by marriage took possession 
Of this first germ of dark oppression, 
And thus o'er his fair lands were strewed 
The seeds of negro servitude, 
Which in his soil took vigorous root, 
Spread far and brought forth bitter fruit, 
Like the foul weeds, whose rank increase 
Are foes to agricultural peace ; 
Yet faster far the mischief rose 
'Mid southern heats than northern snows. 
In th' tropics was the race begun 
Of these dark children of the sun ; 
Since Ham, as ancient records say, 
First peopled torrid Africa. 
His progeny where'er they wander 
Stand heat like any salamander, 
Yet tremble at a northern breeze 
Like quivering leaves on aspen trees ; 
So northern spouses soon agree 
To set their shivering servants free. 
Their children held the doctrine forth, 
" Slaves yield no profit at the North," 
And conscience sometimes gave a sting 
About the justice of the thing; 
Therefore 'twas settled firm and strong, 
That what's unprofitable must be wrong. 



J. R. SMITH. 67 

So little Rhoda, Massa, Maine, 
With all their sisters in the train, 
Including Eboracea fair, 
And Pennsylvania plump and square, 
And all that breathed the northern air, 
Published at length the firm decree 
That their bond-servants should be free ; 
Determined, independent elves, 
To cultivate their farms themselves, 
With work their stalwart sons could do, 
Who had grown tall and robust too, 
'Mid the bracing air of northern plains 
Where half the year old Winter reigns ; 
While dames that dwelt 'neath milder skies, 
Where cotton blooms and palms arise, 
And warm suns drive in quickened flood 
Through haughty veins the fiery blood, 
Declared they'd keep their servants all 
Until the stars of heaven should fall ; 
And that each foolish northern sister 
Who her fair hands with work would blister, 
Was bringing deep disgrace and shame 
Upon the proud patrician name. 
Black men, though born in human shape, 
They held a kind of speaking ape, 
Designed to serve with sable grace 
The proud, far-famed Caucasian race ; 



68 POEMS BY 

Yet the free northern sisterhood 
Did not regard this reasoning good, 
Nor could they see a close connection 
'Twixt bondage and a dark complexion. 

VII. 

Thus rose contention most uncouth 

Between Sam's spouses North and South, 

And discords he could not control 

Vexed day by day his honest soul, 

Till he admitted, when too late, 

He should have chosen a single mate, 

Or not been quite so unsuspecting 

And free and easy in selecting; 

And that in marriages political 

A person couldn't be too critical. 

" But now it's done, " said he, " 'tis fit 

That I should make the best of it ; 

I've seen some trouble in my day, 

And scorn to let this paltry fray 

Destroy the peace and harmony 

Of my extended family." 

So saying, he, to quell the row, 

Brought forth his legislative plow 

And drew a furrow east and west,* 

Long, broad and deep, o'er earth's green breast, 

*Line of the Missouri Compromise. 



J. R. SMITH. 69 

In all two thousand miles or more, 
From the eastern to the western shore, 
And thus his southern wives addressed : 
" Fair dames ! This is our high behest: 
South of this line is Slavery's home ; 
Thus far, no farther can it come ; 
There sow and reap and live at ease, 
And rule your servants as you please , 
But if you bring them o'er the furrow, 
You'll do it to your grief and sorrow. 
For this the penalty must be, 
That they shall evermore be free ; 
And northern dames, to end the matter, 
Please keep your own side of the platter." 

Now this wise measure, it appears, 
Stilled the contention many years, 
And seemed for strife a sovereign balm. 
But ah ! 'twas a deceitful calm, 
For one of Uncle Samuel's boys, 
Famed for his eloquence and noise, 
Sometimes surnamed "the Little Giant," 
With subtle tongue and logic pliant, 
Obtained the loan of Samuel's harrow, 
And used it to his grief and sorrow ; 
For he dragged the long, long furrow over, 
Seeded with diplomatic clover, 



JO POEMS BY 

So smoothly it could not be seen, 

Where once the famous bounds had been ; 

And thus it quickly came to pass 

That Sam's peace-line all went to grass ; 

And then his boys with angry din 

Once more the old dispute begin, 

Filling his legislative halls 

With bludgeons, blows and angry brawls, 

Until the noisy strife resounds 

O'er all his far-famed metes and bounds. 

VIII. 

The foremost in this strife, I ween, 

Were two dames of "the Old Thirteen." 

One dwelt on a plantation fine 

Far southward of the old peace-line ; 

A proud brunette, quite fair to view, 

But dreadful bold, and saucy too, 

And pretty strong on aristocracy 

For one who went with the democracy. 

No doubt, she had her virtues too ; 

And to her friends was always true ; 

And also, as the world well knows, 

Was most relentless to her foes, 

And brave, I'd have you understand, 

As any Roman in the land ; 

And taught her rising sons to be 



J. R. SMITH. 71 

Leaders of modern Chivalry ! 

But then, she looked with pride and scorn 

On all who were to labor born, 

And, as a matter of propriety, 

She banished them from her society, 

And, in their low and servile station, 

She dubbed them " Mud-sills of Creation; " 

So from this term you may divine, 

Her cognomen was Caroline. 

The other, quite as proud as she, 

Lived somewhere by a northern sea ; 

A thrifty housewife, pert and saucy, 

Her neighbors called her "Little Massa. " 

Though small, she had an active mind, 

To various industries inclined. 

Schools, churches, shops and factory spindles 

Her zeal and industry enkindles, 

Until, among her native hills, 

Wealth in a thousand streams distills. 

Learning and scientific knowledge 

Flowed from her common school and college. 

Having her share of wit and sense, 

She soon was famed for eloquence, 

And, when she spoke her mind, was heard, 

For she joined the action with the word ; 

And what she willed, in language plain, 



J2 POEMS BY 

Showed a strong purpose to maintain. 

Of labor she was not ashamed, 

Though for the practice often blamed, 

And called a mercenary jade, 

Who cared for naught but work and trade ; 

Yet was she never given to fears 

Of other people's scoffs and jeers, 

But when she had a work to do, 

Rolled up her sleeves and put it through. 

When young, 'tis said, she was a child 
Forward and saucy, pert and wild ; 
While yet upon her mother's knee, 
She boxed her ears and spilt her tea ; 
And when the insult she would spurn, 
Gave her a " Bunker" in return. 
With Caroline, as rival, mated, 
She was by her both feared and hated. 

IX. 

As gunpowder, when touched by fire, 

Ignites in an explosion dire, 

So mutual hatred in the minds 

Of factions oft occasion finds, 

To join explosive elements 

That drive out sober truth and sense, 



J. R. SMITH. 73 

And fan fierce passions to a glow — 
Our rival matrons found it so ; 
And I, to make the matter plain, 
Must the occasion here explain. 

Oppression, when 'tis brought to bear 

On human nature anywhere, 

Is sure to foster discontent ; 

Which the oppressor must prevent, 

If he his victim would secure, 

And bid him patiently endure 

The hardships of his lot, and be 

Content with abject slavery ; 

He must convince him, if he can, 

That it is ever Nature's plan 

To give the wise and strong command, 

To rule the weak with iron hand ; 

That liberty is but the dower 

Of knowledge, wisdom, wealth and power — 

A sovereign and exalted state 

The black man can't appreciate. 

Scripture describes his state, says he, 

il Cursed be Canaan," don't you see? 

" Servant of servants must he be." 

Yet thoughts of freedom would intrude 

In spite of all this logic shrewd ; 

And therefore, Cato, Cuff and Zip 



74 POEMS BY 

Would master sometimes give the slip, 

And take the subterranean train, 

The land of liberty to gain ; 

For their worst habit, I must say, 

Was, that they sometimes ran away, 

Leaving their masters to pursue 

With horsemen armed, and blood-hounds too, 

The trouble soon became so great, 

That Sam, the evil to abate, 

Called in his ministers of state — 

Priests, counselors, magicians wise, 

Such as he kept with him to advise, 

All learned men, adept at figures — 

To stop this stampede of the niggers. 

While some advise to let them go, 

And on the subject race bestow 

Freedom, as the effectual way 

To heal the breach and end the fray, 

Others, like Egypt's king of yore, 

Would bind them faster than before, 

And, to produce the needful awe, 

Bid them make brick without the straw. 

But Sam declared it wouldn't do 

To let those lazy niggers go; 

Like Egypt's frogs they'd multiply, 

And fill his land with vagrancy — 



J. R. SMITH. 75 

His Southern spouses, at the word, 
Would bolt and leave his bed and board- 
It wouldn't do them any harm 
To stay and help him till the farm ; 
Besides, they needed his protection, 
Therefore he'd keep them in subjection. 
His boys, to bring the vagrants back, 
Should blood-hounds turn, he'd head the pack : 
If this did not reform their habits, 
He'd shoot them like so many rabbits ! 
And so a famous law was made,* 
Binding his boys to learn the trade 
Old Nimrod followed, poets say; 
The hunter who made man his prey 
In lands and ages far away. 

For Samuel thought the strongest tether 

To hold his sable flock together, 

And also to conciliate 

Each disaffected Southern mate, 

Was thus to keep in strong control 

These seekers for the Northern pole. 

Was it some powerful magic spell 
Bade black men love the North so well? 
Desert their sunny South, and go 
To dwell in lands of ice and snow? 



^Fugitive Slave Law. 
6 



76 POEMS BY 

The North was chill and distant far, 
And coldly beamed the Northern star ; 
Yet its cold beams upon them shine 
As Freedom's sun with light divine; 
And they, to reach its warmth and light, 
And 'scape from Slavery's gloomy night, 
Would oft ten thousand dangers dare, 
Even for one puff of Freedom's air. 
Oh, Liberty! where'er thou art, 
Thou'rt dear to every human heart ! 

Now, Southern boys were filled with glee 

At Uncle Samuel's policy, 

For 'possum hunting was a sport 

To which they often would resort; 

They loved the chase with dog and gun— 

And hunting niggers would be fun. 

But many Northern boys declared 

The law tyrannical and hard; 

They could pursue the wolf and bear 

And other wild beasts anywhere, 

But to hunt down men, and women too, 

Though clothed in skins of sable hue, 

Because they sought— the hapless elves— 

The freedom they enjoyed themselves, 

Was asking more than they could do, 

And to humanity be true. 



J. R. SMITH. yj 

As God had given them forms erect, 

They for themselves had more respect 

Than change to baying dogs, to chase 

Poor fugitives from place to place ; 

And should such vagrants cross their track, 

They'd help them onward and not back ; 

That law they never should obey, 

But scorn it to their dying day. 

Then Samuel swore — for he was mad, 

To think his boys dare cross their dad — 

That if his laws they did contemn, 

He'd send his "posse" after them, 

And teach them better than defy 

His lawful, wise authority. 

Though much he blustered, it was plain 

The law proved impotent and vain ; 

Still, sable bondsmen, undismayed, 

Stole Northward through the midnight shade, 

And masters feared, with every breath, 

Slavery would run itself to death, 

And they be left — unhappy elves — 

To labor and support themselves ; 

And this would kill them in society, 

And shock their notions of propriety. 



78 POEMS BY 



X, 



Time doth not wait for men to jangle, 
Although he helps to disentangle 
The knotty thread of their affairs, 
By winding off their days and years 
From Fate's dread distaff — thus revealing 
Events the future is concealing. 
It soon occurred, as you must know, 
That Samuel's neighbor, Mexico — 
An ancient dame of Spanish race, 
His peeress, too, in rank and place, 
But not in youthful life and power, 
As she must learn some future hour — 
Had a big daughter, Texas named, 
Who for her waywardness was famed ; 
A strapping damsel, passing fair, 
Who wore a "lone star" in her hair, 
And, with her acres broad and green, 
Was rich as any household queen ; 
And yet, wherever lay the guilt, 
She with her mother had a tilt, 
And gave her sturdy blow for blow, 
Jacinto for her Alamo, 
With such strong hand as bade her rue it, 
And Samuel Houston helped her do it. 



J. R. SMITH. 79 

And thus the huzzy whipped her mother, 
And, all parental love to smother, 
And force of natural affection, 
Of Uncle Sam she sought protection, 
And, with her coquetry and art, 
She won at length his honest heart; 
His household joined, and was allied 
With dames that took the Southern side. 

In this all Southern dames exult 

As in a favorable result, 

For much they feared that Northern power 

Would match them in some evil hour, 

Or Northern fair ones steal away 

Sam's heart from them some luckless day 

(For to this time the Southern fair 

Had plainly held the larger share). 

They thought that Texas' broad domains 

Would so increase their earthly gains, 

That they might fear no diminution 

Of their peculiar institution. 

Ambition is a blear-eyed elf, 

And sometimes overleaps himself. 

And, in his eagerness to clutch 

At power, oft grapples far too much! 

So his shrewd scheming came to pains, 

While Sam grasped Texas' wide domains. 



80 POEMS BY 

He, to conclude a settlement 

With Mexico, was not content 

Till he obtained two daughters more, 

Whose lands reached the Pacific shore. 

The one was California fair, 

Of rugged brow and golden hair — 

An heiress rich in mines of gold 

And various forms of wealth untold. 

Young Mexico was called the other, 

Named after her respected mother, 

Who dearly loved the solitude 

Of inland streams and mountains rude. 

'Twas thus Sam plucked his peeress' pinions 

And took the third of her dominions. 

But mark the end ; the Southern clique 

Gained small advantage by the trick, 

For, while young Texas bowed the knee 

To Southern power and slavery, 

Fair California would be free, 

And brought her wealth to aid the cause 

Of liberty and equal laws. 

And thus power held the balance still, 

With trembling poise 'twixt good and ill, 

And his ambition still prepares 

Our hero for new toils and cares, 

And troubles that his heart had broke, 

Had it not been composed of oak. 



J. R. SMITH. 8 1 

Earth's glory is a brilliant star 
When in prospective seen afar, 
But ne'er repays the toil and pain 
Required its radiant crown to gain. 
While Glory's star Sam's brow adorns, 
He finds it still a crown of thorns. 

XI. 

O blest Contentment! happy he 
Who lives and loves and dies with thee ; 
Though in the lowly vale of life, 
Apart from public noise and strife, 
Should fame ne'er reach his still retreat, 
Nor crowds pay homage at his feet, 
Neither shall Slander's poisonous breath 
Blast his fair name with early death ; 
Enjoying what kind Heaven bestows, 
His soul lives on in calm repose, 
Till He who gave him being here 
Removes him to a brighter sphere, 
And grants him, though obscure he be, 
The meed of immortality. 

A glorious truth without a doubt, 
Which Sam was slow in finding out; 
Who, following some delusive bubble, 
Was always getting into trouble. 



82 POEMS BY 

And so again he thinks to wed 

Miss Kansas, a fair Indian maid. 

Who, lovely as a poet's dream, 

Lived down by broad Missouri's stream. 

And soon this wild, romantic notion 

Brings to his household new commotion ; 

For Southern dames forbade the union 

Unless she'd join in their communion, 

While Northern ones declared that she 

Must cleave to them and liberty. 

Thus rose a sad domestic jar 

That caused a mimic civil war ; 

And some pulled one way, some another, 

Till with their angry strife and pother, 

They came full nigh, in quarrel grim, 

To pull poor Kansas limb from limb 

And now the rampant Southern bevy 

Their utmost force begin to levy. 

To occupy fair Kansas ground 

With planter, negro and bloodhound, 

While Northern dames poured in their sons 

By thousands, armed with swords and guns, 

Saw-mills and grist-mills and Sharp's rifles, 

Arid many such-like Yankee trifles, 

And so filled up the region fair, 

That Southrons yielded in despair ; 



J. R. SMITH. 83 

Though hard they strove to drive them out 
With fire and sword and cruel rout, 
False voting, anarchy, disorder, 
And ruffians from Missouri's border; 
But they laid their failure with propriety 
On the wicked " Emigrant Aid Society." 

XII. 

But Sam had other ills in store ; 

One trouble paved the way for more. 

Scarce from the Kansas broil recovered, 

He soon a fearful plot discovered, 

To which Guy Fawkes' bears no comparison, 

And well designed to vex and harass him. 

As some sly rogue, with quick alarm, 

On bee-hive raps to wake the swarm, 

Rousing the armed tribes within, 

Who sally forth with buzz and din — 

So old John Brown with nineteen men 

Made Dame Virginia quake again, 

And ruffled up the F. F. V.s, 

Who fluttered like a swarm of bees, 

Took Harper's Ferry arsenal, 

And held it with its guns and all, 

Till old "Sic Semper" sent her sons 

In squadrons, armed with swords and guns, 



84 POEMS BY 

To take John Brown, the great Fee Fum, 

Who to devour them all had come. 

After a long and bloody fight, 

In which great prodigies of might 

And valor shone, they stopped the row, 

With the loss of one man and a cow. 

John Brown was taken and locked in prison, 

To answer to the State for treason ; 

But John declared his conscience clear, 

Said, for himself he had no fear ; 

For what he did was done to free 

Th' oppressed from chains of slavery. 

If he should try his scheme again, 

He might improve upon the plan ; 

But while life lasted, he'd withstand 

This stain upon his native land. 

"I freely yield my life," said he, 

" A sacrifice to liberty. 

Yet know, like Samson, my example, 

I've tried the posts of Slavery's temple, 

And I proclaim to one and all 

'Tis even now tottering to its fall." 

Thus like a martyr-prophet, he 

Predicts the death of Slavery. 



J. R. SMITH. 85 

Many rejoiced when Brown was hung, 
Though the same noose in which he swung, 
To Slavery proved a fatal rope, 
Strangling her proud, ambitious hope 
To bind the free North at her will, 
And pipe her slaves from Bunker's Hill. 
For thousands held (and as it stood, 
No doubt their reasoning was good), 
If one mad Abolitionist, 
With nineteen madmen to assist, 
Their mad designs could thus prevail, 
To turn all Slavery's votaries pale 
With sudden terror, and elate, 
Shake the firm pillars of the State, 
Where was her safety and her honor, 
Were the whole pack let loose upon her ? 
So every Southern wall and town 
Dreaded the name of old John Brown, 
And feared his ghost might rise once more, 
With arm more powerful than before, 
To break th' oppressor's power and bring 
Sure vengeance on a swifter wing. 

XIII. 

Thus around Sam's devoted head 
Clouds of domestic trouble spread, 
Thicker and darker day by day, 
Filling his soul with dire dismay. 



86 POEMS BY 

And soon he hears with terror dread 

Low thunders muttering overhead, 

And rumbling sounds beneath his feet, 

The ominous prophecy repeat, 

As if the heaven and earth would meet, 

And mingle in convulsion dire, 

Of earthquake, storm and angry fire. 

The time long dreaded now had come, 

Sam's Southern wives forsook their home ; 

They left without one fond good-by, 

Or love-glance from one sunny eye. 

Their sons in wild rebellion rise, 

And break in twain paternal ties ; 

And hard they strive to rend in twain 

His mighty realms, but strive in vain 

Sam heard the news with sudden start ! 
It almost broke his honest heart, 
To think the mates he loved the best 
Should first fly the domestic nest. 
Trembling, he grasped at objects round, 
Then reeling, tumbled to the ground ; 
And for a long and dreadful day 
He in a deathlike torpor lay, 
While friends looked on with tearful eye, 
And thought that Uncle Sam would die. 



J. R. SMITH. 87 

Then doctors to the sick man came, 
For his disease each had a name ; 
And each a separate remedy, 
Which they would all at once apply. 
Some called the ailment catalepsy, 
And some a stroke of apoplexy, 
Some an affection of the heart 
Beyond the best physician's art ; 
Some as a certain cure propose 
A gentle homeopathic dose. 
Some order plasters for the breast, 
With anodynes and quiet rest; 
While those of allopathic order 
Pronounced no help for the disorder 
But pills and powder, which they say 
Must be applied without delay. 

Now, as one brought a monstrous plaster* 
In which to wrap his swooning master, 
As if he feared (and no great wonder) 
His various parts would fall asunder, 
Sam woke and sprang up with a bound, 
And glared upon the doctors round. 
" Hands off! " he cried ; ' ' I'm yet alive, 
And still expect to live and thrive ! 

^Crittenden Compromi-e. 



88 POEMS BY 

But all your drugs and cataplasms 
Can never terminate my spasms. 
And yet, I think 'twould do no harm 
To bleed a little in the arm ; 
So if you please, keep cool and steady, 
And go and get your lances ready." 

Lances were brought, and Sam was bled, 
Till the poor man was almost dead. 
Opposing schools would prove their skill ; 
Some aimed to cure and some to kill. 
Our patient saw his own best blood 
Poured from his veins in copious flood, 
And soon in accents faint and low 
Commands to stop the purple flow. 
But quacks that ope the gates of life 
With nerve unmoved and bloody knife, 
Have little power or skill to close, 
So still the crimson current flows ! 

The news soon reached Europa's shore, 
That Uncle Sam lay at death's door, 
And " the great Republic " was no more, 
And kings and lords the words repeat, 
As if to them the tale was sweet. 
For with his democratic airs, 
Sam was no favorite of theirs. 
And yet, the patient didn't die; 
And I must tell some reasons why. 



J. R. SMITH. 89 



XIV. 

Our hero had an overseer, 

To do his business year by year; 

An office of responsibility 

In times of trouble or tranquillity, 

And quite as honorable a station 

As king in any other nation. 

For his estate had grown so fast — 

Great was his power — his empire vast — 

And at set times he made a choice, 

Among the thousands of his boys, 

Of one he thought would fill the place 

With honor, dignity and grace, 

That he might guide his ship of state, 

And called him his Chief Magistrate. 

He always chose to have his way 

In what concerned his general sway; 

But left all matters to his spouses 

Pertaining to their several houses. 

His rule concerning overseers 

Gave each a stated term of years, 

And most of these had tact and skill 

To execute their master's will, 

Who thus far, it was understood, 

Favored the Southern sisterhood ; 

For well they knew, through rain or drouth, 

Sam's heart was with the sunny South. 



9° POEMS BY 

Though rich and great, he was but human 
Being often ruled by crafty women, 
Who, versed in Slavery's magic arts, 
Had stolen full many Northern hearts 
That bowed in homage at her shrine 
As if a goddess all divine. 
Others with puritanic pride 
Leaned stoutly to fair Freedom's side, 
Supported by the Northern boys, 
Lovers of liberty from choice. 

Thus oft opposing parties met 
In Sam's great council duly set, 
Each fully bound to advocate 
Freedom or Slavery in debate ; 
Until his council-halls became 
With strife and bluster all aflame. 
Grave councilors from North or South 
Railed each on each with open mouth ; 
Used pistols, bowie-knifes and bludgeons, 
Like any vile unhung curmudgeons; 
And though great talent oft appeared, 
By which the ship of state was steered, 
Yet the greater part in the gift of railing 
Possessed a talent most unfailing; 
And in the gentle strife, 'tis said, 
The Southern boys came out ahead. 



j. r. smith. 91 



XV. 



Thus long, Sam's craft with gallant form 

Swept on in sunshine and in storm, 

Veering at times, yet on the whole 

His prow was turned toward Freedom's goal, 

Still, tacking oft, it was not clear 

Which way the captain wished to steer ; 

He called the oppressed of earth to flee 

From foreign chains and slavery, 

While holding at his sovereign will 

Four million slaves in bondage still. 

At length it chanced an overseer 

Was chosen the ship of state to steer, 

Who pledged his word as Freedom's friend, 

That slavery should no more extend, 

But that all realms free from the stain 

Their freedom ever should maintain. 

This was the fire that touched the tow 

That set Sam's commonwealths aglow; 

The secret of the dread commotion 

That shook the land and rocked the ocean ; 

The spark within the magazine 

That glared in many a fearful scene 

Of murder, strife and civil war, 

And set contending States ajar; 



92 POEMS BY 

While distant nations looked aghast, 
Lest the fierce storm careering past, 
Should drag them from their moorings far, 
Into the fiery gulf of war. 

XVI. 

What mean those martial sounds that rise, 

In peaceful vales, 'neath quiet skies? 

Why gleam afar those lances bright? 

Why glow those watch-fires through the night ? 

Why brother face to face with brother, 

Preparing to destroy each other, 

Whom we but yesterday did see 

In friendly converse glad and free ? 

These warlike signs from shore to shore, 

Mean only this and nothing more : 

An honest ruler, good and great, 

Is called to steer the ship of state ; 

And angry factions look with spite 

On him as pledged to Freedom's right. 

They call him fire-brand, fool and ape, 

A monster in the human shape, 

And say he never shall disgrace 

The White House with his homely face, 

His awkward gait and free soil creed, 

Or if he does — they will secede. 



J. R. SMITH. 93 

And yet this monster was a man 

Built upon Nature's noblest plan, 

Tall both in body and in soul ; 

As wise and firm to hold control 

As any that have filled the station 

Since these broad realms became a nation. 

Said Uncle Sam in accents firm : 

"Our Abram must serve out his term. 

He's chosen by a fair majority, 

And therefore rules by just authority; 

So I'll just take for this disorder 

An extra dose of law and order. 

My gadding spouses too shall come 

Back to their duty and their home, 

In one united family, 

Or I will know the reason why; 

But now with coaxing we'll have done, 

What say you, Abraham, my son?" 

Called to respond, * the overseer 
Spoke words dispassionate and clear, 
Advising all to peace and love, 
With counsels drawn from heaven above, 
T' observe the laws without dispute 
Which he was sworn to execute ; 



^Lincoln's Inaugural. 



94 POEMS BY 

That whatsoever might befall, 
He'd mete out justice unto all, 
According to his best ability, 
With fairness and impartiality. 

XVII. 

But his advice was labor lost ; 

Their heads seven haughty matrons tossed, 

Declaring they were all agreed 

From Sam's dominion to be freed ; 

He'd proved himself unkind and hard — 

A husband worse than o'd Blue Beard ; 

They'd not stay with him one day more, 

Though forced to beg from door to door. 

Their sons, too, said they'd gladly go — 

Cut loose from lands of ice and snow, 

Yankee ''school-marms " and pulpit quacks, 

Peddlers of Abolition tracts, 

And wooden nutmegs, and what not, 

For they were all a low-bred lot, 

A whining, peddling, paltry pack — 

They'd leave 'em, never to come back. 

If their old sire would let them go 

In peace, and as a gift bestow 

Those lands and tenements and houses 

Now held by his absconding spouses, 

And every fort and arsenal, 



J. R. SMITH. 95 

And custom-houses one and all, 

With harbors, roads and thoroughfares, 

To have and hold forever theirs, 

They'd leave in peace and not in passion ; 

If not, they'd give their dad a thrashin'. 

"This plan," quoth Sam, with ample reason, 

" Would pay a premium for treason ; 

And my vast realms in twain be rent — 

The glory of a continent. 

Therefore the thing can not be done, 

The vixens must take all or none ; 

For thus to cut me into twain, 

Methinks would cause me too much pain 

About the pericardium, 

And send me straight to my long home. 

Nor would my farm be worth a fiddle, 

Thus sliced up and cut down the middle." 

The overseer thought Sam was right ; 
Rather than part, he'd better fight, 
And so the living child* bestow, 
According as war's fortunes go, 
On North or South, than mutilate 
By a division his estate. 

*A reference to one of Lincoln's speeches. 



96 POEMS BY 

Now while wise men in council met, 
Still o'er the question fume and fret ; 
And plans of settlement devise, 
And talk of peace and compromise, 
Sam's boldest, most contentious wife 
At Charleston ushers in the strife : 
Removes the emblems of his power — 
His stars and stripes — from hall and tower, 
Raising her stars and bars on high 
To flaunt in a divided sky. 

Sam's fort at Charleston, good and stout, 

Was made to guard from foes without ; 

But landward, as the walls were thin, 

It ill could guard from foes within. 

" So here," thought she, " I will begin, 

And give Sam such a rousing blow, 

That he'll be glad to let us go." 

So her attack on Sumpter's fort 

Inaugurates the cruel sport, 

Which in its progress soon became 

As bloody, wild and fierce a game 

As rival parties ever played 

Since our rebellious world was made. 



J. R. SMITH. 97 

XVIII. 

The bitter strife was loud and long, 
'Mid yell and shout and battle-song, 
And bursting shell and cannon's roar 
Re-echoing from shore to shore. 
Fiercer and fiercer beats the storm 
Upon each proud and gallant form, 
Who face the war-dog's sulphurous breath, 
And press to victory or death ! 
Sure, those who lit the flames of war, 
And waked this fierce, domestic jar, 
Though brave men follow where they lead, 
Must answer for the reckless deed. 

He who can paint the tempest's form, 
When scattering mingled fire and storm, 
May also paint the fiercer rage 
When angry hosts in strife engage. 
My weary pen its motions cease, 
And my sad spirit longs for peace. 
O gentle Peace ! resume thy sway, 
And change this dreadful night to day ; 
Let Charity, with wing of light, 
Scatter these demons of the night ; 
Oh, bid this bloody carnage cease, 
And let the gentle bow of peace 
Smile in a brightening firmament 
Upon war's passing fury spent ! 



9cS POEMS BY 

One remedy ; Emancipation 

In this dread crisis saved the nation. 

For Uncle Sam declared he'd try it, 

And bade his overseer apply it. 

And when the dose was fairly swallowed, 

The patient's constitution rallied. 

Ere his convulsions were yet over, 

'Twas prophesied he would recover, 

And from that most eventful day 

His pulse resumed its healthful sway. 

So 'mid the doctors, great and small, 

Old Abe was greatest of them all ; 

Though we admit he was assisted 

By hosts in Freedom's cause enlisted, 

And human bravery and skill 

Combined to execute his will ; 

And a kind Providence helped secure 

The bold decree and make it sure. 

Had Doctors Grant and Lee ne'er met, 

Sam might be in convulsions yet. 

XIX. 

How glad the sight when storms are o'er, 
To view the glorious sun once more 
Gild scenes in beauty still arrayed, 
Though strewn with wrecks the storm hath 
made. 



J. R. SMITH. 99 

As the dark war clouds roll away, 
The sun of peace resumes his sway ; 
Though the war demon in his wrath, 
Leaves desolation in his path ; 
And mourners sadly bow the head 
O'er comrades mingled with the dead. 

Angel of Peace ! we hail thy glad return, 
Within our hearts fierce passions cease to burn, 
No longer War wheels past his bristling files, 
And in fair Nature's face thy presence smiles ! 
Hushed is the scene ! the sun is sinking low, 
Gilding the quiet waters with its glow, 
Where many a shrub and flower inclines to 

view 
Its graceful form in Nature's mirror true ; 
While far away yon stately mountains stand 
In silent grandeur, guardians of the land. 
Though in the general quietude they seem 
Forgetful of their trust, lost in a dream ! 
Clad in the brightly glowing tints of even, 
Their tops reciprocate the smile of Heaven. 
Even busy Zephyr's gentle motions cease, 
Save where he softly whispers, i( All is peace." 
What mortal man, that claims Reflection's 

power, 
Can look on Nature's face at such an hour, 



100 POEMS BY 

And see no sign of blessing in the glance, 
Nor feel his soul in Virtue's strength advance? 
Hail, sovereign Peace ! child of celestial birth ! 
Thou best and dearest gift of heaven to earth ! 
Long mayst thou fill with influence serene 
Each human heart and each terrestrial scene, 
And sway thy gentle sceptre o'er our race 
Until thy spirit beam in every face, 
Till war's loud thunders cease from shore to 

shore, 
And men shall learn the dreadful art no more ! 

xx. 

But while the gentle voice of Peace 
Brings to contending hosts release, 
What cry rings through the startled air, 
That seems the echo of despair? 
Abraham has fallen ; the good and great, 
The helmsman of our ship of state, 
By murderous bullet stricken down, 
Even at the height of his renown ; 
And soon around our fallen chief 
We bow the head in bitter grief. 
And as we bear him to his rest 
Amid his prairies of the West, 
And from his ashes turn away , 
This wreath upon his urn we lay . 



J. R. SMITH. 101 

" A nation mourns a father slain, 

Not upon war's ensanguined plain, 

Not stricken down by bloody hand 

In some remote and hostile land ; 

But by the hand of treacherous son 

This dark, infernal deed was done. 

In the house of friends, a treacherous blow 

Lays our dear chief and leader low ; 

Strange, that the human form conceals 

Such spirits as this deed reveals ! 

Strange, that so foul a deed was planned 

And acted in our native land ! 

T'was surely righteous Heaven's design 

That we should suffer for our sin — 

The sin of foul oppression long, 

A nation's by-word and her song, 

A sin of which our sons partake 

From Southern gulf to Northern lake. 

For which through four long bloody years 

We've bent with mingled groans and tears 

O'er noble sons and brothers slain 

Upon the ghastly battle-plain ! 

And now, as victory brings release 

From bloody fields, with pledge of peace, 

Behold ! how Slavery's fiendish heart 

Such deadly hatred can impart. 



102 POEMS BY 

She strikes, amid her mortal pangs, 
At Liberty, with poisoned fangs, 
By smiting down, with rage and hate, 
The honored leader of the State ! 

" There ceased to beat as pure a heart 

As God to mortals doth impart ; 

Thus passed from earth as brave a soul 

As e'er o'er mortals held control ! 

For he was of the noble few 

Who to themselves and God are true ; 

Who even to scorners kindness show, 

And live to bless both friend and foe ! 

Praying like Christ for murderers still, 

And ever rendering good for ill. 

Now shrined in human hearts, he stands, 

Beloved and honored of all lands, 

One whom Humanity proclaims 

Among those great and noble names 

To whom supernal powers decree 

The meed of immortality ! 

And while above earth's noise and strife 

He dwells in an immortal life, 

His mortal part, in slumber sweet, 

Shall rest in Springfield's still retreat, 

Till from his ever-honored clay 

Angels shall roll the rock away." 



J. R. SMITH. I03 



ADDRESS TO THE COMET. 

I wandered forth one evening fair, 

As I have often done, 
To breathe the sweet and balmy air, 

And view the setting sun. 

Upon the hill he seemed to stop, 

To take a farewell look 
At mountain, cottage, village spire, 

And ever murmuring brook. 

At length, with graceful nod and wink, 

As any beau knows how, 
He bobbed his head behind the hill, 

And left me with a bow. 

When he was gone, devoid of fear, 
The stars by myriads came, 

Arcturus and a thousand more 
I can not call by name. 

But soon a strange, unbidden star 
Came blazing through the sky, 

With an enormous tail of fire, 
The fear of every eye. 



104 POEMS BY 

O'er earth his fiery rays he shed, 

With a disastrous glare, 
As through the spacious heavens he flamed, 

The sons of men to scare. 

But I, a mortal brave and bold, 

A stranger to all fear, 
Th' illustrious traveler thus addressed, 

And thought he'd stop to hear : 

a Hail, long-haired stranger ! stay thy course, 
And tell me where thou'st been ? 
What hast thou done these thousand years ? 
What wonders hast thou seen? 

M Hast thou not swept thy fiery tail 

O'er some unlucky world, 
And planet against planet dashed, 

All to dread chaos hurled? 

4< If you passed near old Saturn's ring, 

Describe it, if you please, 
And tell me if Miss Luna's face 

Is really made of cheese ? 

" Or if beyond Uranus' path 

Another planet still 
Pursues his never-ending round, 

Inform me if you will. 



J. R. SMITH. 105 

" If I can find these mysteries out, 

I'll be a happy elf, 
Since mortals here on earth will think 

I found them out myself." 

Thus I addressed the wondrous star ; 

And this was what I said, 
But the proud vagrant of the sky 

Deigned not to turn his head. 

But off he whisked with pride and scorn, 

And to the northward stole, 
To help the old Bootes chase 

The Bear around the Pole. 

And so I turned upon my heel, 

As stiff and proud as he, 
Declaring I'd not talk to one 

That wouldn't talk to me. 



MORAL. 

Reader ! if you're a humble man, 
With manners blunt and plain, 

Don't make too free with the high-born, 
Or such as sport a train. 



106 POEMS BY 

FAR FROM HOME. 

Say, lonely stranger, tell me why 

The glittering tear-drop dims thine eye ; 

That sudden tear that seems to start 

From a full, overflowing heart? 

Alas ! 'tis that on earth I roam, 

A weary wanderer far from home ! 

What means the sigh that strikes mine ear, 
Like Autumn's gale from forests sear, 
Or murmur of the ocean's breast 
When not a wave remains at rest? 
Alas ! 'tis that on earth I roam, 
A wanderer from my native home ! 

How oft in visions of the night, 
When busy Fancy takes her flight, 
My own, my long lost home I view, 
And friends so constant, kind and true ; 
Yet waking, weep that still I roam, 
A friendless wanderer far from home ! 

Oh, could I view my native shore, 
And breathe my native air once more, 
And see where once in childhood's hour 
I ran to pluck the favorite flower, 
No more upon the earth I'd roam, 
A stranger to my native home ! 

1835- 



J. K. SMITH. I07 



SORROWS OF A PEDAGOGUE. 

Comic ye who live by rod and rule, 
The sovereigns of the common school, 
And let your souls in pity melt 
At all the sorrows I have felt ; 
Sorrows that even you can feel, 
Unless your hearts are made of steel. 

A woman once — no matter where — 

A prodigy of talents rare, 

Was in such powers of tongue arrayed, 

She'd cast Demosthenes in shade ; 

Zantippe, once a famous scold, 

With her a station couldn't hold, 

For she would storm at such a rate, 

She'd battel- down a city gate ! 

You doubt ? Wait till my story's through, 

And then, perhaps, you'll think so too. 

A boy of hers once went to school — 
An urchin who despised all rule. 
The master tried in vain each art 
To capture his rebellious heart, 
That lie might get his lesson well, 
And learn to read and write and spell, 



108 POEMS BY 

Until at length he in his search 
Found an old-fashioned twig of birch, 
And to the lad he did impart 
This needful, salutary smart. 

The boy went home both mad and sore, 
And there he told his story o'er. 
Then came his mother in a rage, 
Threatened the master to engage ; 
Brandished her fists and wagged her jaws, 
To vindicate her injured cause. 
Thus some fell tigress fierce arrayed, 
From a thick jungle's tangled shade 
Comes forth to growl and scratch and bite, 
And for her snarling offspring fight. 

The master scarce could stand the shock, 
Though braced as firmly as a rock ; 
His hair upraised, his face turned pale, 
His trembling frame began to fail; 
Ten Furies hot from Pluto's realm 
Could scarce his senses so o'erwhelm. 
The very trees that stood around 
Drooped their green branches to the ground, 
And shrinking from the fearful sight, 
Rolled up their leaves in sheer affright. 



J. R. SMITH. IO9 

A streamlet near that dimpled by, 
Did from her Gorgon presence fly; 
And a stone wall that saw her frown, 
Beheld, turned pale and tumbled down. 

Should I report her speech in full, 
Such eloquence might crack your skull ; 
Permit me then, without emotion, 
To sink it in Oblivion's ocean. 
1836. 

ON A MOUSE, 

IN A SCHOOL-ROOM AFTER SCHOOL. BY THE 
PEDAGOGUE. 

Poor little forager in the realms of knowledge, 

What art thou doing here? 
Thou carest naught for rules of school or college, 

Thou'st wandered from thy sphere. 

Thou seek'st the fragments of the cold colla- 
tion 

Dropt on the school-room floor 
By careless hands; they are thy honest ration, 

Go add them to thy store. 



IIO POEMS BY 

Why fear and start? no dog or cat is nigh thee 

To worry and devour, 
The noisy human stream has now passed by 
thee, 

This is thy lawful hour. 

If man would fill his place in God's creation 

As well as thou dost thine, 
Methinks there would be then but small occa- 
sion 

To chide or to repine. 

Thou only seek'st, to satisfy thy hunger, 

Cold morsels cast away ; 
Or the torn leaf of some old " Sander's Reader," 

To line thy house of clay. 

Thou art a modest thief compared with many 
Whom this vain world calls great ; 

Who having power, do plunder human rights, 
To exalt their lordly state. 

Betwixt us twain, though thou'rt a tiny atom, 

The difference is small ; 
Thou seekest crumbs of food, and I of knowl- 
edge, 

Each at our nature's call. 



J. R. SMITH. Ill 

But death, with thee, 'gainst earthly ills con- 
tending, 

Must ever end the strife ; 
While I, beyond the chaos of the present, 

Seek for a higher life. 



THE ERRAND OF CHARITY. 

Down from the crystal gates of heaven 

Fair Charity in robes of light 
Flew on seraphic wings to earth, 

To scatter Rancor's gloomy night. 

Her sisters, steadfast Faith and Hope, 
Attended her o'er land and sea ; 

Full fair was that celestial band, 

But she was "greatest of the three." 

She came, and from her radiant face 

Shone Peace serene and heavenly Love; 

Forgiveness beamed upon her brow, 
And beauty like to that above. 

She came, and from her presence fled 
Censure, Distrust and carping Hate ; 

Stern War let fall the lifted spear, 
Pride bowed the head no more elate. 



112 POEMS BY 

She came, and green eyed Jealousy 
Flew back to regions of Despair ; 

But Meekness caught her heavenly glance, 
And met an answering spirit there. 

Fierce men, in jarring discord met, 

Looked up as her bright form passed by, 

And angry scowls of boding hate 
Were turned to smiles in every eye. 

And Doubt and Falsehood fled from hearts 

Taken as by a glad surprise ; 
For mutual Trust was planted there, 

And Truth met Truth in answering eyes. 

And as her radiant visage shone 

Around our waked and happy shore, 
Men wondering at her beauty said : 
" How strange she seemed not thus before ! ' 



J. R. SMITH. 113 

HOSPITALITY. 

There is a place beneath the sun 
Where welcomes can not be outdone ; 
Where there's no mincing hospitality, 
But of a noble, generous quality. 
Not such as leaves your mind perplexed, 
Now pleased half, and now half vexed, 
Causing the honest soul to doubt 
Whether he's welcome in or out 
But such as bids you feel at home, 
And hushes every wish to roam ; 
Chains you enchanted to the spot, 
Whether you would be so or not. 
With hearts as genial as their fire, 
Whose tongue or patience need to tire? 
With minds as generously stored 
As their own hospitable board, 
Who need despond, were he refined 
As the most famous of mankind ? 

Thank Heaven ! that there are some such places, 
Which like Sahara's green oases, 
This world's cold, dreary desert graces ; 
And yet, let us be thankful too, 
That these oases are so few, 
Lest, were a greater number given, 
Content, we'd seek no other heaven. 
1840. 



I 14 POEMS BY 

THE ABORIGINES. 

I love to sit and muse at evening's close, 

Where runs the rustic streamlet rippling by, 

Upon the course of human joys or woes, 

While silent night steals over earth and sky. 

When the bat wakes, and the dull owlet's cry 
Breaks from the dark wood gloomily, oh ! 
then, 

How sweet, how sad, to cast Reflection's eye 
O'er all the varied states and strifes of men, 
While darkness shuts their forms out from the 
mortal ken. 

Where now the white man's stately mansion 
stands, 
Long since the Indian's rude-built wigwam 
stood ; 
Where now the plough-boy whistles o'er the 
lands, 
The shrill war-whoop hath echoed through 
the wood, 
While answering voices 'mid the solitude 

In chorus rose ; those voices now are dead. 
Echo hath long forgot these accents rude. 
The hut is dust ; its occupant hath fled, 
Or by its site his bones lie mouldering in 
their bed. 



J. R. SMITH. 115 

Far West, the Sire of Waters, forest-crowned, 
The parting sun now crowns with golden 
smiles, 
Like the mild love-beam that hath almost bound 
Some dark misanthrope with its heavenly 
wiles. 
Upon his banks behold mysterious piles, 

The wonder of an age, with moss o'ergrown. 
No polished frieze, no sculptor's tool defiles 
Their sanctity ; but there they stand alone, 
To mark where chieftains sleep, where hosts 
were overthrown. 

All else hath perished; Time expands his wings 

In triumph o'er all else ; the warrior's fame, 
The chief's renown, the dwelling-place of kings, 

All sunk alike, have left not even a name. 
These mounds alone still linger to reclaim 

A nation's being from its people's fate — 
That nation's only record. Even the same 

Our Indian tribes now pass with tottering 
gait, 

And equal ruin still on their descendants wait. 

Yet where their children sported through the 
grove, 
Where their loved council-fires once blazed 
so bright, 



I 1 6 POEMS BY 

Where their young men and maidens told their 
love, 
Proud Science might not add to their delight. 
But ah ! these scenes have vanished ; a strange 
blight— 
The blinding glare of Civilization's ray — 
Hath darkened all their joy and brought their 
night, 
While westward sweeps the proud Caucas- 

sian's sway, 
To engulf their scattered tribes, who most 
despairing say : 

"0 white man! when you wandered to our 
coasts, 
We welcomed you as if from heaven above ; 
But had we known ye would requite your hosts, 

Death in return for kindness, hate for love, 
Then had the war-whoop pealed through 
every grove, 
Then had our sires dashed down the calumet 
And grasped the arrow ; fiercely had they 
strove 
To crush the viper ere his fangs were set 
Deep in the stricken heart, where they are 
rankling yet. 



J. R. SMITH. 117 

"But 'tis too late; our bows are snapped in 
twain, 
Our shafts are spent, our warriors sleep in 
graves 
O'er which the oppressor riots. Hope is vain, 
How doubly vain, since broad Atlanta laves, 
With his extended line of murmuring waves, 

Not even a pebble that our sons may claim. 
Who are our sons? Dependents, vassals, 
slaves. 
Ah, then, scourge on ; our forms may yield 

to shame, 
Our spirits never — these your scourges can 
not tame. 

"And yet, ye talk of Indian cruelty — 

Ye who can boast of love, but show it not ; 
Who say the hand of Science to the sky 

Hath raised you far above the red-man's lot. 
Sure on Columbia's brow there is a blot 

That Time can scarce erase or Science 
shroud, 
And even Religion's light illumes the spot 
To show it darker. From yon threat'ning 

cloud 
The spirits of our sires for vengeance call 
aloud." 



n8 



POEMS BY 



But vengeance, ye affirm, the red-man loves, 

And is there not a cause? O white man, say? 
Why then those martial sounds amid our 
groves? 
Why our brave warriors slain in bloody fray? 
Why, from our reservations driven away 

To barren hills, leave we our native bounds, 
To bitter want and misery a prey? 

While far and near, o'er all our hunting 

grounds, 
The white man's smoke ascends, the wood- 
man's axe resounds. 

Great Spirit of our fathers ! can it be 

That thou, upon a throne of love divine, 

Dost grim and Moloch-like delight to see ' 
Our children offered on this bloody shrine? 

It can not be ; thy face hath ceased to shine, 
Hid in the shadow of Oppression's night, 

And yet of hope, though late, thou givest a 
sign— 

For lo! from out the darkness, on our sight, 
A gleam of Learning's ray and pure Relig- 
ion's light. 



J. R. SMITH. II9 

THE PROGRESS OF LIBERTY. 

This earth shall yet be free, though scarred 

and worn 
And reeking with oppression, crime and wrong, 
Through gloomy centuries of moral night, 
While bigotry associate with vice 
Divided all the empire of the mind. 
The time must come, in the revolving years, 
When man his glorious birthright shall assume 
And stand erect, the image of his God, 
Emancipate from Error's crippling bonds, 
In his primeval beauty, save the scars 
Which years of sin and degradation deep 
Have left as sad memorials of the Fall. 

The fearful bondage that enthralls the mind 
And fetters all its energies divine 
Must be removed afar. The human soul 
Shall cast away its chains and, with Heaven's aid, 
Bursting the spirit's Bastile, sally forth 
From moral dungeons, where it hath endured 
A living death, a loathed, sickly life, 
Death's fittest emblem ; thence in sweet relief 
Shall it look forth o'er all the earth and breathe 
The universal air of Liberty. 



120 POEMS BY 

Ye victims of Oppression, who have felt 

So long the yoke of bondage on your necks ; 

Ye slaves of foul Intemperance, who bleed 

Beneath the scourges of a cruel lord, 

Who hopeless cry, "How long, O Lord, how 

long 
Shall we be bruised between those baleful 

powers — 
The love of gain, the lust of appetite, 
Till, 'neath the upper and the nether stones, 
Our cherished joys and hopes are ground to 

dust." 
Lift up your heads, deliverance is for you ; 
Ye countless band that bow at Mammon's 

shrine, 
Or yield to Pleasure's fascinating charms, 
Break now your glittering fetters and be free. 
Self-torturing votaries of Superstition, 
Low bowing down to gods of wood and stone, 
Claim now your primal birthright and rejoice ! 

The human mind 
Is still progressive, onward, upward still — 
Onward in knowledge, freedom, wisdom, 

might — 
Upward in virtue, purity and love, 
For God hath placed no limit to its course. 



J. R. SMITH. 121 

And as it merges from Oppression's shade 
Into the liberty that Heaven bestows, 
It shall commune with angels, and assert 
Its lost celestial powers again restored. 

O Liberty ! without thee what is life ? 
A drear abyss, a rayless, black expanse 
Filled with all shapes of woe ; for Misery, 
Grim, terrible, with all her meagre train, 
Ushers the slave to life, nor leaves his side 
Till Death, the kindest friend he e'er beholds, 
Beckons his toil-worn form to final rest. 

How can the slave of passion or of power 

Enjoy the beauty of the visible world? 

How can his dull ear drink the harmonies 

That Nature breathes from her melodious lute? 

How can he walk the glowing landscape o'er, 

And bid his ..pinioned spirit wander free ; 

To range with zephyr 'mid the rainbow flowers, 

Muse in the ancient solitary wood, 

Climb to the height of heaven-sustaining hills 

Earth's prospects to command, or bid his soul 

Join in the music of the cataract, 

And gaze upon its grandeur till he seems 

A part and portion of its majesty, 



122 POEMS BY 

Or upward rise to revel 'mid the stars, 
And see a God in all the glorious range ? 
How can he quaff from Learning's sacred fount, 
And send his spirit back through lapse of years 
To hold calm converse with the mighty dead, 
And drink in wisdom from her thousand 

springs ? 
His spirit with his body are in chains — 
The eye, the ear, the soul alike are bound, 
Whether his own dark passions forge the links, 
Of power oppressive from his fellow-man. 

Oh, Liberty ! thou sacred boon of Heaven, 
Spread thy broad wings in triumph o'er the 

earth ; 
Thy gentle reign, we trust, is nigh at hand. 
From manhood's strength foul Tyranny declines, 
And as he limps adown the steep of age, 
In his old, withered, palsied, faltering hand, 
He grasps with wild despair his battered blade, 
Which oft hath sought thy heart, but sought in 

vain. 

With this foul fiend thou'st many a conflict 

held, 
When he was in his prime and thou a child ; 
And oft to mortal eyes thou seem'dst to fall, 
But from each conflict mightier hast thou risen; 



J. R. SMITH. 123 

All scarred, yet scatheless from ten thousand 

fields, 
While his vain prowess weaker still has grown, 
And soon the grave shall hide his hated form, 
And thou with man shalt dwell 'mid countless 

years, 
And sway a gentle sceptre o'er the earth. 
Even now pale despots tremble for their power, 
As the earth shakes beneath their tottering 

thrones. 
Long have they stalked o'er the submissive 

heads 
Of teeming millions, who have meekly bowed 
To bear the oppressive load ; but now their 

tread 
Is faint and fearful, as they hear beneath 
The fires of incensed justice, kindling long — 
Loud roaring for a passage, while around 
Red flames break forth with sudden, dazzling 

glare, 
And brother tyrants sink in hopeless plunge 
Amid the burning lava, as the shout, 
The free, glad, joyous shout of Liberty 
Echoes from hill to hill, from land to land ; 
And kindred hearts respond with glad acclaim, 
Where'er o'er earth's broad map such hearts 

are found. 
9 



124 POEMS BY 

Columbia ! my loved, my native land ! 
Last child of Time, great heir of Liberty, 
Hope of th 7 oppressed, and stronghold of the 

free — 
How glorious are the memories that cling 
Around thy natal hour, as Earth beheld 
Thy birth amid the throes of Revolution. 
Oh, be these glorious memories cherished still, 
And may Heaven save our country and her sons 
From the wild phrensy of blind souls that deem 
Gain, godliness, and riot, Liberty. 
Let Reason still guide Freedom in the path 
That leads to Peace and Truth and Righteous- 
ness, 
Lest Passion change her form to Anarchy, 
And, running wild in riot, wrap in flame 
Her stately temple, blast her spreading tree, 
And scorch and wither every patriot's hope. 
May myriad spires still pointing to the sky 
Tell of a God adored, and nations learn 
This salutary lesson, nor forget 
That there's a wise Supreme who rules the 

world, 
And they best rule on earth who own his sway. 
Freedom, like fire, its emblem, still must prove 
A useful servant but a tyrant lord, 
So may she rule our hearts, yet serve us still. 



J. R. SMITH. 125 

THE BIRD CONVENTION. 

BEING THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE GREAT CONVENTION 

HELD AT TERRAPIN RIDGE IN THE SUMMER OF 

l880. DEDICATED TO THE CLASS IN 

TAXIDERMY BY THE INTERPRETER. 

I think 'tis Esop that makes mention 

Of birds assembling in convention — 

Domestic matters to debate 

And talk about affairs of state, 

And in sage council seek to find 

Protection against human kind. 

Such meetings oft are held, no doubt — 

If man could only find them out. 

But in some forest's deep recess, 

In language few can even guess, 

The birds hold court among the trees, 

Secure from human enemies, 

There to their griefs and joys give vent 

And chatter to their hearts' content. 

Such an assembly lately met, 

Whose acts have not been published yet, 

And I presume, as voluntary, 

Self-constituted secretary, 

To give you without further greeting 

A faithful record of the meeting. 



126 POEMS BY 

While rambling one summer day, 
I to the wildwood took my way, 
And in its depths my footsteps stayed 
To enjoy the cool and peaceful shade — 
When round me rose such din and clatter 
I paused t' investigate the matter, 
And found the adjacent trees and bushes 
Alive with catbirds, larks and thrushes, 
And whippoorwills and kites and owls 
And bobolinks and orioles, 
Wrens, bluejays, blackbirds, hawks and pig- 
eons, 
And others from surrounding regions, 
All perched and chattering away 
As if 'twere their town-meeting day. 

I hid behind the leafy screen, 

Where I might see and not be seen ; 

Though I confess 'twas hardly proper 

To play the secret, sly eaves-dropper — 

A fault for which I make apology 

To universal Ornithology. 

Still, poets (so my plea avers) 

Are Nature's true interpreters, 

And, hence, may enter when they please 

Into her hidden mysteries ; 



J. R. SMITH. 127 

And by this power I now translate 
The substance of this sage debate 
Into Humanity's dull speech, 
Else far beyond all mortal reach. 

Tossing his topknot high in air, 

A saucy Bluejay took the chair 

And, with a nod by way of greeting, 

Explained the object of the meeting : 

"This day, though seeming fair," he said, 

4 ' Is unto me a day of dread ; 

And so methinks this time will prove 

To all the tenants of the grove — 

For in the future I can trace 

The ruin of the feathered race! " 

"Who," said the Owl, "oh, who, who, who, 

Has so severely frightened you?" 

"I," said the Catbird from a tree, 

In feline tones, "'twas me, 'twas me." 

"Please come to order," said the Chair, 

"This interruption is not fair. 

A native, I was hatched and bred 

Here on Old Terrapin's woody head ; 

And think you I am such a fool 

As to be frightened by an owl, 

Or by the silly catbird's cries, 

Or any other wing that flies ? 



128 POEMS BY 

All those who have a grudge to pay, 

I'll satisfy some other day ; 

But now, you'll please to understand, 

I've other business on my hand. 

I was about a fact to state 

Which to my knowledge came of late, 

That did to me such horror send, 

It bade my feathers stand on end ; 

And yet, you all will witness bear 

That I am very hard to scare. 

You know yon town of honest fame, 

Elizabeth they call its name — 

A place where precious ore is found, 

An English town on Yankee ground, 

With sprinklings of Dutch and Scotch 

To constitute a true hotch-potch, 

And then, to make the mixture thin, 

Some down- East Yankees are thrown in. 

Now, there has come to yonder town 

A man they call Professor Brown, 

To teach some taxidermy classes, 

And men and women, lads and lassies, 

All rush to learn the cruel art — 

Which proves mankind devoid of heart; 

And, strange to say, the men are joined 

With women gentle and refined. 



J. R. SMITH I29 

The sequel mark: Oh, sin and shame ! 
Each modest maid and gentle dame — 
Those who once only wished to tame us — 
Now disembowel and embalm us, 
Give us glass eyes and legs of wire, 
And all our beauty to admire ; 
In neat and graceful postures place us, 
To grace their mantels and show-cases, 
And say we look, the more the pity, 
4 Exceedingly sweet and awful pretty. ' 
Then say, O friends, with due reflection, 
What can be done for our protection?" 

''Can it be possible," quoth the Thrush, 
"Men do such things without a blush, 
Unmindful of the good we do 'em 
By guarding fruit and singing to 'em ? 
I with my children may make merry 
Over a random plum or cherry, 
But 'tis no more than lawful pay 
For keeping bugs and worms away ; 
What would their fields and orchards bear 
If 'twere not for our guardian care? 
Oh, maidens, with your winning arts, 
Have you such malice in your hearts? 
'Tis bad enough, I will engage, 
To be imprisoned in a cage ; 



I30 POEMS BY 

But to be turned into a mummy, 

And sit forever acting dummy 

For any single living creature, 

I own is dead against my nature. 

I love to sing, and sing I will — 

No man or maid shall keep me still ; 

I'll take yon oak tree's topmost spray, 

And sit and sing the livelong day ; 

And, if they strive to do me wrong, 

I will so charm them with my song, 

Their base intentions they'll give o'er, 

And praise my notes and ask for more. 

Then pubitty, pubitty, chee, chee, chee, 

Hurrah for the land of liberty ! 

Come, cheer up, cheer up, chee, chee, chee." 

Longer had been the thrush's song, 

Had not a hawk, that joined the throng, 

Spoke out in tones so loud and shrill, 

It made each songster's blood run chill. 

Quoth he: "As monarch of the sky, 

I am man's bitter enemy ; 

His boasted rights I ne'er regard, 

But forage on his poultry yard. 

And so I think it only fun 

To hear him crack his paltry gun ; 



J. R. SMITH. 131 

For when I please, I can arise 
Beyond its reach in upper skies." 
" You well deserve," replied the Hen, 
"The usage you receive from men ; 
You are so full of scurvy tricks — 
The very thief that stole my chicks ! ' 
The Hawk replied : li This doth but show 
How things are ordered down below — 
How all that have the power will wreak 
Their vengeance on the poor and weak. 
Through earth and air, in Mercy's spite, 
Weakness is sin and might makes right. 
All things, from insect up to man, 
Prey on each other as they can. 
Although superior power in part 
May be o'ercome by fraud and art, 
To cheat and plunder is the rule — 
The honest man is deemed a fool. 
Man, for his pleasure or his gain, 
Will kill and cause all creatures pain ; 
So blame not me, my worthy dame, 
Whom hunger drives to do the same." 
"A lying plea," the Kingbird said, 
Perched on a dry branch overhead ; 
" You say you're monarch of the sky; 
Your power and prowess I defy. 



132 POEMS BY 

Monarchs are greater still than kings, 
If I know aught about such things — 
I am a king by name and right, 
And this I'm free to prove in fight; 
So if my title you'd disprove, 
We'll try the issue o'er yon grove." 
* 'Agreed,'" the angry hawk replied, 
Swelling with mingled rage and pride. 
So both together rose on high, 
To end the quarrel in the sky. 
Jeers from the angry hawk were heard, 
The kingbird never spoke a word, 
But, darting with a quick surprise, 
Aimed straightway at his rival's eyes, 
And fighting with a skill profound, 
Soon brought the boaster to the ground. 

" Our champion's dead," all now began, 

" Oh, who will help us fight with man ?" 

" Who?" said the Owl, "oh, who, who, who! 

Small need, if this course you pursue, 

And thus each other fight and slay — 

You'll prove to him an easy prey. 

Now, comrades, hear what I advise, 

For friends and foes account me wise : 

Mankind are mad on Art and Science, 

And use each possible appliance 



J. R. SMITH. 133 

To lead her to reveal the laws 

Of Nature and each hidden cause ; 

And this, my deepest thoughts confirm me, 

Makes them to practice Taxidermy, 

And for the crime make this apology — 

That thus they study Ornithology. 

So the best wisdom I can teach 

Is just to keep beyond their reach." 

When this speech came to a conclusion 
There rose a very great confusion — 
A fluttering of approbation, 
A chattering of confirmation, 
The sound of which awakened me 
From slumber underneath a tree. 



THE BRIDGES OF PLUM RIVER. 

Come, rustic muse, from regions far away, 

And to our humble vale a visit pay ; 

Thou who didst aid a Burns in numbers rare, 

To celebrate the famous " Brigs of Ayr," 

Come, help an unknown bard in his endeavor 

To celebrate the bridges of Plum River. 

For we, since our new bridge has been com 

pleted, 
Have a clear case of history repeated ; 



134 POEMS BY 

Since side by side the old and new are standing, 
As for the honors of the place contending, 
Or so, at least, they stood not long ago. 
And folks thus tete-a-tete will talk, you know, 
For they've an understanding and a spirit 
Which from the source of being they inherit. 
And that a bridge may have a spirit too, 
The "Brigs of Ayr " bear testimony true. 
If this conclusion you should fail to see, 
Its opposite you can not prove by me. 
So with your leave the converse I'll record 
Between the new and old bridge, word for 

word ; 
As once upon a time I passed that way, 
These are the words they said or seemed to say : 

NEW BRIDGE. 

" Unsightly hulk ! thou scarecrow and affright 
To every passer-by ! out of my sight ! 
Why stand so near me, dotard ? I declare, 
Your rotting presence taints the very air ; 
And yet, you haven't sense enough to see 
Your room is better than your company ! ' 

OLD BRIDGE. 

"Oh, you talk mighty big for one so young; 
Among your elders you might guard your 
tongue, 



J. R. SMITH 135 

And show respect to age, though dressed so gay, 
Since you are but a thing of yesterday. 
I'm built of honest timber through and through, 
Though rather worse for wear — pray, what are 

you ? 
And what good reason have you for complaint, 
You mongrel mixture of wood, iron and paint? 
And yet you're neither one thing nor the other, 
A mighty power to stand the wind and weather ! 
When you shall stand as long as I have stood, 
And brave as many years the storm and flood, 
Bearing the public burdens day by day, 
Till like myself you have grown old and gray, 
Then you may have some reason for your boast; 
Till then your windy words are labor lost ; 
And until then 'twere wiser, I'll engage, 
And more becoming, to respect old age." 

NEW BRIDGE. 

" Respect old age, you dotard ! No ; not I ! 
When men grow old and useless they must die. 
And why not you, whose walls are tumbling 

down — 
A thing condemned, a nuisance to the town? 
Your day is done, your usefulness is o'er. 
And yet you stretch yourself from shore to 

shore, 



I36 POEMS BY 

As if you never would the place resign, 
Although you know by right the place is mine. 
To fill it I have come from Pittsburg City, 
Being ordered hither by the bridge committee; 
Therefore I'm here according to the law, 
And give you formal notice to withdraw. 
I've heard my manufacturer declare 
A thousand pounds to each square inch I'd 

bear, 
And my abutments, built by good John Brew, 
Are deeply laid with stone, a half yard thro'; 
But should a muskrat creep upon your back, 
His weight might make your dozy timbers 

crack ; 
And yet, my equal you profess to be, 
And claim respect for age and dignity ! 
Know, too, your homely, weather beaten face 
No longer serves our modern age to grace ; 
For you're the product of that early day 
When carts and lumber wagons bore the sway, 
And people dressed in linsey and sheep's gray; 
Now all mankind with taste and splendor shine, 
And ride in carriages and phaetons fine. 
For a full twelvemonth past, the people say, 
They feared your rotten timbers would give 

way, 



J. R. SMITH. 137 

And plump them in Plum River's crystal wave, 
Where they might find, perchance, a watery 

grave, 
Or thy abutments, built of cobble-stones, 
Would tumble down some day and break their 

bones ! " 

OLD BRIDGE. 

M And you will stand and listen to the rabble, 
And take for gospel all their senseless babble. 
Well, let them talk; but know when I was 

young, 
My solid timbers all were staunch and strong, 
My well-made joints all firm, as firm could be, 
Built by that master workman, John C. Lee ; 
And long have I withstood the floods that rose 
From summer rains and spring's dissolving 

snows, 
And patiently I've borne for many years 
The heavy tread of horses, cows and steers, . 
And the vast burden of the loaded wain 
Groaning 'neath bags of wheat or sheaves of 

grain, 
And streams of travel, constant as the tide 
That flows beneath me to the ocean wide. 
But, oh ! my lad, that was a trying day 
When Barnum's show and circus came this way, 
With elephants and beasts from every land, 



I38 POEMS BY 

All pouring o'er me in procession grand, 

And chariots and cages built on wheels ! 

How at the thought my vision reels ! 

While country boys and girls in garments scant, 

Perched on the fence to see the elephant ; 

But when old Jumbo trod upon my back, 

His mountain weight made my old timbers 

crack. 
And yet, I bore them all from shore to shore, 
But I can never stand such trials more ; 
For I confess that I am older now, 
And time has set his mark upon my brow. 
Yet age is called a crime, it seems of late, 
Which only death itself can expiate ; 
But I may boast, though feeble now I be, 
No men nor beasts have lost their lives by me. 
But well I've served my country many years, 
And ill deserve your youthful taunts and sneers. 
Why should I die despised by every one, 
Not loved for all the good that I have done?" 

NEW BRIDGE. 

''Old bridge, I stand reproved, and justly too. 
I grant that to your age respect is due. 
So to your worth due deference I'll pay, 
And bless your memory when you pass away ; 
And when I'm old and feeble, hope to see 
A like respect from those who follow me." 



J. R. SMITH. 139 



UNCLE SAM AMONG THE SPIRITS. 

One summer day, as Uncle Sam was taking 

An after-dinner nap, before awaking, 

His busy thoughts, from slumber still kept free, 

Expressed themselves in this soliloquy: 

"That I am growing old is very plain, 

It is so difficult to stand the strain 

Of business I have borne for many years ; 

And business still increases it appears, 

Driving me on from one thing to another, 

Till I am quite distracted with the pother. 

Once with enough to render life a pleasure, 

I've now so much I'm pestered beyond measure 

To manage it. Once with my family 

I was as happy as a man could be, 

But now the trouble that my children make 

Is quite enough the stoutest heart to break ! 

Once I had countless acres at command, 

And called the homeless sons of every land 

From this world's crowded fields to dwell with 

me, 
And help me rear a home for Liberty ; 
But nowadays they're rushing in so fast, 
Their very numbers bid me stand aghast — 

10 



I4O POEMS BY 

In crowds they come from every land and clime, 

By thousands and ten thousands at a time — 

Dutch, Irish, Swede and Danish in the van, 

And in the rear is Johnny Chinaman! 

Within my bounds all hues and creeds unite — 

Hindoo and negro, yellow, black and w r hite, 

Prating of rights and freedom day by day, 

Till they take all my liberty away. 

At Freedom's fount I'd have all nations quaff, 

But I have been too generous by half; 

For if they throng my gangway at this rate, 

Who knows but they will sink the ship of state? 

The Arab in the fable gave consent 

To take the camel's nose into his tent; 

But soon the body following the snout, 

The honest Ishmaelite was crowded out. 

And so I must confess it is w T ith me, 

Amid this senseless bawl for liberty ; 

With all their creeds and 'isms' and notions 

strange, 
They're like my very senses to derange ! 
There never sure was such a hapless elf! 
I sometimes fear I'll be beside myself. 
But hark ! methinks the sound of wings I hear, 
Can there be listening spirits hovering near?" 



J. R. SMITH. 141 

SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY {speaks). 

%i You're too desponding, uncle. It is plain 

You've had an overtaxing of the brain, 

And need, no doubt, a little relaxation 

From brooding o'er the councils of the nation ; 

And I confess, the state of your affairs 

Might give a younger man than you gray hairs. 

But you well know that I am your best friend ; 

With me your life began, with me 'twill end. 

'Twas I that bid the wisest men of earth 

Gather in secret council at your birth ; 

And they proved skillful doctors I'll be bound, 

Since you came to existence safe and sound. 

The author of the immortal Declaration 

Breathed in your veins the noble aspiration 

For liberty, and from him you inherit 

Your principles and Democratic spirit. 

And let me tell you in this favored hour, 

With my tried friends and principles in power, 

Grant but the life-long honor due to me, 

And from your troubles you will soon be free ! ' 

SPIRIT OF FEDERALISM. 

<k That view is plausible, but then you see 
There's a mistake about the pedigree ; 
Half-statements are deceptive — I insist 
Your honored parent was a Federalist ! 



14- POEMS BY 

The father of his country he was named, 
And of his record none need be ashamed. 
'Twas he who hearing first his country call, 
To save her life and honor gave his all. 
First in our hearts in time of war or peace, 
He fights our battles till our troubles cease ; 
Then soon from power to private life retires, 
And kept alive the patriotic fires 
By laboring with a wisdom half-divine 
With steadfast law true freedom to combine. 
Though pledged to law and order, still was he 
Esteemed the foremost friend of Liberty, 
Who to the oppressed of all the world was dear ; 
Follow his counsels, and you need not fear. " 

SPIRIT OF REPUBLICANISM. 

* ' Shades of the honored past ! why wake from 

sleep 
Into our modern politics to peep ? 
The honored Washington and Jefferson 
As patriots both a noble race have run. 
We of their steadfast principles retain 
The virtue and the spirit of the twain. 
The democratic spirit was so free 
That many feared 'twould end in anarchy, 
And so a share of Federalism is lent 
To constitute a stronger government ; 



J. R. SMITH. 143 

And from this union, spite of friends or foes, 
The spirit of Republicanism arose, 
With wisdom well designed to guide the way 
Betwixt false freedom and tyrannic sway ; 
And now our power and wisdom we employ 
Against the foes that would your peace destroy. 
So, uncle, you'll perceive that in the end 
Republicanism has proved your safest friend, 
Which, followed faithfully, will bear you thro' 
All the perplexities that trouble you." 

SPIRIT OF LABOR. 

" Your principles, old friend, we could endure, 

It is your practice we wish to cure ; 

For any one with half an eye can see 

Your principles and practice don't agree. 

You loud proclaim, that you your sons may 

bless, 
1 The right to freedom, life and happiness; ' 
But while the half of them appropriate 
This right and bask as favorites of the State, 
The other half, of every hope bereft, 
Must daily drudge and toil for what is left — 
The right to labor until life is o'er 
And grim death kindly comes to ope their door 
And from their earthly prison set them free, 
Leaving behind them homes of penury. 



144 POEMS BY 

Once laborers were honored by the State, 
But there has come a wondrous change of late; 
Now, see them toiling for starvation fees, 
While rich men roll in luxury and ease. 
'Twixt capital and toil, equipoise 
Would much increase the poor man's gains and 
joys ! 

SPIRIT OF GREENBACKISM. 

"Greenbacks! more greenbacks! they will fill 

the docket, 
We'd like to have them stuffed in every 

pocket! " 

SPIRIT OF TEMPERANCE. 

" Things that are needful we must never slight, 
But we've more wealth now than we use aright ; 
From licensing the grog-shops let me say 
Some roll in wealth and luxury to-day, 
While many thousands, from the self-same 

cause, 
Starve or become the victims of our laws. 
Wealth gained by fraud and evil is the curse 
That drives this nation on from bad to worse. 
Grant but the right and power to sweep away 
These sovereign pests and curses of the day — 



J. R. SMITH. 145 

Whisky distilleries, grog shops, breweries, 
And every allied curse akin to these — 
Then, though all lands should pour their pau- 
pers in, 
We would find great relief from crime and sin. 
This chief of evils banished from our land, 
You at the head of all nations well might 
stand!" 

SPIRIT OF ANARCHY. 

'O dot is puddy dalk, to dake away 
From effery mans his liberty some day, 
So he no more can trink his lager beer ; 
Ve fight against dot doctrines all the year. 
Ve make the rich mans come upon the spot 
And gif us holf de money he has got ; 
And if he does object or dries to fight, 
We blows him up mit bombs and dynamite ! " 

uncle sam {waking). 

"That was a horrid vision mocked my sight! 
And have my troubled slumbers taken flight, 
Or am I sleeping ? Sure, he errs who deems 
That all is vacant in the place of dreams, 
For, while sojourning in that shadowy land, 
I saw most wondrous forms around me stand. 



I46 POEMS BY 

Some noble.in their presence and sublime — 
Like beings basking in eternal prime — 
And hallowed by the sacred light of time. 
Others, of groveling presence seemed to be, 
Lacking in native grace and dignity. 
But, sure, that last dread form which met my 

sight 
Rose from the region of hell's blackest night ! 
All welcome to the worthy I bestow, 
My ban upon the demons from below. 

" Ye honored spirits of the mighty past! 

While time endures your principles shall last, 

For they are based on truth, and much I owe 

To your wise counsels of the long ago. 

Whether inspired alone by liberty, 

Or holding law the safeguard of the free, 

To serve your country were your counsels 

wrought 
In the true forge of independent thought. 
And so opposing counsels deftly blended, 
At length in a wise government were ended ; 
Democracy and Federalism, combined, 
Around our infant States their arms entwined — 
So were we saved from Anarchy's pollution, 
And led to adopt our noble Constitution. 



J. R. SMITH. 147 

11 Now, all ye honored spirits of this day, 
Who o'er my realms aspire to wield the sway, 
Give honor to the fathers of the land, 
And on their well-tried doctrines take your 

stand. 
Dishonest schemes and claims must be rejected, 
The rights of laborers must be respected ; 
With honest men in power that can be trusted, 
Financial matters may be well adjusted ; 
All the extremes of party spirit shun ; 
To every race and creed be justice done ; 
Let those who emigrate from foreign parts 
Be welcome to our country and our hearts — 
If their own hearts be bound to Freedom's 

cause — 
While they respect our nation and its laws. 
But if they won't respect them — well, what 

then? 
Why, hang them soon, or send them home 

again ? 

"And ye who seek a moral reformation 
Of all the sins and follies of this nation : 
God speed you in your efforts to uproot 
The trees of Sodom with their bitter fruit. 
If ye would banish grog-shops — I'm your man; 
Clean out those Augean stables if you can. 



148 POEMS BY 

For though I'm sometimes overtaken with 

slumber, 
I'll go for the greatest good to the greatest 

number. 

" But ah, foul Anarchy ! thou imp of hell ! 
Why leave your smoky pit, with men to dwell ? 
Why come, with fiendish grin, to curse our 

sight, 
And boast your robber-creed a thing of right? 
The only right for you within our scope 
Is a short shrift and a strong hempen rope. 
Out with your hellish creed and alien slang, 
And 'quit your meanness,' or you'll have to 

hang!" 

THE CELEBRATION. 

Children of America, 
Come and listen to my lay, 
While I tell you of the way 
We kept our Independence Day. 

In 'Eighty-eight, when July third 

Had reached the midnight hour, were heard 

Thunders loud as quarry blast, 

Waking echoes as they passed, 



J. R. SMITH. I49 

Which renewed at break of day, 
Said as plain as words could say : 
July Fourth is now begun, 
And the boys are having fun, 
Burning charcoal and saltpeter ; 
Who could boast of bliss completer ? 
Scorching faces black and blue, 
Putting out an eye or two, 
Counting all a royal joke, 
Full of patriotism and smoke ! 
The universal Yankee nation 
Now prepare for celebration. 
As the sun with rising power 
Smiles on the propitious hour, 
Men and women, girls and boys, 
Drop all business that annoys, 
And in holiday array 
Throng along the public way 
In Enjoyment's fond pursuit. 
Some in saddle, some on foot, 
Some in hacks and phaetons fine, 
To one common point incline, 
Till around the public stand 
See the merry crowds expand, 
Wheresoe'er the eye can rove, 
Filling all the leafy grove ! 



I50 POEMS BY 

Now the sound of music loud 

Claims the notice of the crowd, 

While the leaders of the day 

To the platform make their way, 

And upon the public stand 

Range in order, hand to hand. 

Then the mighty crowd is still, 

Over grove and wooded hill, 

As the chaplain of the day 

Lifts his hands and voice to pray. 

Then is read the Declaration ; 

And musicians take their station, 

To supply in notes emphatic 

Something grand and patriotic. 

The presiding officer 

Follows with brief words of cheer, 

And closing what he has to say, 

Names the speaker of the day, 

Who promptly rising, takes his place, 

And with wisdom, wit and grace, 

Proceeds to captivate the nation 

With a masterly oration ; 

With faithfulness recounting o'er 

Our brave forefathers' deeds of yore, 

Exhorting us with hearts as brave 

To hold the heritage they gave, 



J. R. SMITH. 151 

Transmitting to posterity 

The sacred birthright of the free. 

And then he speaks in praise of those, 

When storms of fierce Rebellion rose, 

Who bared their breasts to shot and shell, 

And nobly fought or bravely fell; 

Those whose loved forms are with us still, 

Or sleep in Southern grove or hill — 

Brave soldiers, honored by the nation 

With songs and floral decoration. 

Of logic, wit and good advice, 

He gives us all an ample slice, 

And with his wise and winning arts 

He charms and captivates our hearts ! 

And now the crowds, dismissed to dine, 
Beneath the ample shade recline ; 
Old friends hold converse, and the cheer 
Of youthful voices greets the ear. 
Though sprightly youth and heads of gray 
Find pleasure in a different way — 
The old with sober thought sedate, 
The young with health and joy elate. 
And music sounds, and cannons boom 
O'er wrinkled age and youthful bloom, 
And still, the general din to aid, 
Sounds a fire-cracker fusilade ; 



I5 2 POEMS BY 

For on this day both men and boys 
Find pleasure in explosive toys. 
And now, the hour of recess o'er, 
Around the speaker's stand once more 
Collect the scattered crowds to hear 
The ever ready volunteer, 
Who, in extemporaneous phrase, 
Discourses of these latter days. 
Calling his hasty thoughts together, 
He talks of politics or weather, 
Or anything beneath the sun 
On which his mind may chance to run, 
Displaying by his tongue's facility 
The soul of genuine sociability. 

And now, the sun's declining ray 
Calls many to their homes away, 
While others hail his waning power 
As games athletic rule the hour. 
Two towns call forth their strongest men 
Till each have reached the number ten, 
Who stand opposed to try their strength 
On a stout rope of needful length ; 
And ten pull one way, ten the other, 
With a long, strong pull together, 
And those who make the rest give way, 
Are termed the victors of the day. 



J. R. SMITH. 153 

Then comes a merry game of ball 
To fill the time till evening's fall, 
While still a gay and tireless throng 
Far into night the dance prolong. 
And this, O children, is the way 
We kept our Independence Day. 



A FANCY SKETCH. 

FOR THE ALBUM OF AN UNKNOWN LADY. 

Dear Madam, shall a stranger dare 

To desecrate these pages fair, 

And blur with ink the space designed 

For well-tried friends' inscriptions kind. 

Forgive th' offense if it be sin, 

That something whispering from within 

Bids me the kind behest obey 

Of one unknown and far away. 

The spirit moves, and so here goes — 

Some random thoughts in rhyming prose, 

Or limping metre if you choose — 

The offspring of a sylvan muse. 

And now, dear madam, though mine eye 
Ne'er read your physiognomy, 
Though who you are I can not tell, 
Yet what you are I know full well — 



154 POF,MS BY 

I know you're one of Adam's race, 

I know you're Mother Eve's descendant, 

Perhaps possessing all the grace 

That even a Milton's pen could trace 

Of angel form and lovely face. 

And yet, I know you are dependent 

On that great Power for life and breath, 

Who shields us all from harm and death 

And keeps us his broad wing beneath. 

And as you bear a woman's name, 

And to her nature have a claim, 

You doubtless hold her magic art 

To captivate the human heart, 

And the kind sympathy that flows 

To soothe and banish human woes ; 

With instinct quick and gentle hand, 

Such as hath won in every land 

As true, sincere a meed of praise 

As thought can reach or voice can raise. 

Such praise from the brave soul of Park* 
Was wrung when Ethiop's matron dark 
The traveler found in deep distress 
Within a trackless wilderness. 
Racked with disease and fever heat. 
Her hut became his safe retreat, 



f See Life of Mungo Park. 



J. R. SMITH. 155 

And there his weary way she blest 

With food and medicine and rest. 

And when death threatened, soothed his pain 

And brought him back to life again. 

If such rich gems are sometimes found 

In savage wilds on heathen ground, 

May we not think our Christian land 

Still richer jewels can command? 

And, furthermore, if I may guess, 

I can believe that you possess 

A face as fair and form as neat 

As ever in Eve's daughters meet ; 

A pair of laughter loving eyes 

Such as no limner could despise, 

Filling one's soul with glad surprise ; 

From which a single passing glance 

Could make the rising blush advance 

In natures dull and unobservant, 

As that of your most humble servant. 

But beauty, though a thing of joy, 
That oft our mortal thoughts employ, 
Should o'er our hearts hold small control; 
For what is beauty without soul? 
Then for the soul : that you have pride 
I think can never be denied ; 
11 



156 POEMS B\ 

And yet, so tempered with discretion, 
It seems a valuable possession. 
Coquettish, doubtless, you can be— 
A fault in which your sex agree ; 
Charming or scornful as you please, 
And wayward as the passing breeze ; 
Those traits with which one may suppose 
You play the mischief with your beaux; 
And yet, benevolence is there, 
And modesty, that virtue r\ -, 
Joined with a certain frankness too, 
Showing a heart both kind and true ; 
While virtue, wisdom, wit and sense 
Around their radiant charms dispense. 
In fine, that all the Christian graces 
Display their ever lovely faces 
In your harmonious composition, 
Is but a natural supposition. 
But whether with respect to you 
All these things are exactly true, 
I never yet could quite make out, 
Though I suppose there's little doubt. 
So, gentle stranger, fare you well ! 
May all rich graces with you dwell, 
And every heavenly blessing stay 
And cheer you to your dying day. 



J. R. SMITH. 157 

FAME. 

Say, what is fame? A bubble gaily spread 
With rainbow hues most beautiful and bright ; 

But, breaking, all its glory soon is fled ; 
Or, like a gilded cloud upon the height 

Of some far-distant hill-top bathed in light, 
Men deem it gold, and happy is the lot 

Of him who gains it ; dazzled by the sight, 
They clamber up, with labor reach the spot, 
Search 'mid the barren cliffs, but find the 
treasure not. 

A good name, well attained, I own, is sweet ; 

If conscience gives assurance to the breast, 
The claim is genuine; he who can greet 

This confirmation sure is doubly blest; 
Not so with him who rides upon the crest 

Of the rude surge of popular applause. 
Upon its brow, or at its base oppressed, 

Who would live thus without most urgent 
cause — 

Now beaten down with frowns, now deafened 
with huzzas ? 



I 5 S POEMS BY 

Napoleon rose in Gaul, and, like the flash 
Of some proud meteor, swept across her sky; 

Sceptres and kingdoms he had power to dash 
Down at his feet like playthings; in his eye 

He kept the world for his ambition high. 
Nothing could gorge but universal sway. 

A million voices swelled his eulogy, 

Yet was he happy? Ask the winds that play 
Around yon prison-isle, kept by Old Ocean 
gray. 

Turn now to one who swam not with the flood, 
To chase the bubble Fame o'er life's rough 
sea ; 

Whose only thought was for his country's good, 
That realm which by his aid was yet to be — 

The god-like Washington ; lo ! there stands he, 
A nation's savior and a nation's sire ! 

Can so much valor with such love agree ? 
Behold, his children, wonder and admire, 
And let your bosoms glow with patriotic fire. 

A magic hand, that with its potent sway 

Calms the wild tumult in a whirlwind's 

breast ! 
When he appeared, War darkened Freedom's 

day, 



J. R. SMITH. 159 

Whose fury by his aid was laid to rest. 
He left a name ; forever be it blest ! 

And not a name alone — a nation, too ; 
Yet fame he sought not: when his land, dis- 
tressed, 

Had found a respite from its toil and woe, 

Back to his loved retirement see him gladly go. 

Lo ! here is greatness worthy of the boast ; 

Such greatness earth hath rarely seen before. 
Had Gaul's proud conqueror paused amid his 
host, 
Ceased for a while the murderous cannon's 
roar, 
And glanced his eye Atlanta's waters o'er, 

He might have learned a safer path to fame 
From one who sought it not; but he's no more: 
The meteor is consumed by its own flame ; 
Nor can a world combined its brilliancy re- 
claim. 

It follows that no mortal can attain 

To the high place and birthright of the soul, 
Who only seeks some selfish end to gain, 

Or write his name on human glory's scroll. 



l6o POEMS BY 

But he who is God's helper to unroll 

Th' historic page, and set the nations free 

From sin and wrong, as needle to the pole, 
True to himself and to humanity, 
Deeped graved in human hearts his name 
shall ever be. 

Then envy not the votaries of Fame ; 

Let them enjoy what this cold earth bestows ; 
Be thou content to gain a worthy name 

From good men, and calm conscience — that 
repose, 
That inward peace, which no rude wind that 
blows 
Can ever ruffle, which not death can shake ; 
Then, when thy term of mortal life shall close, 
A glad and final farewell thou may'st take, 
As on thy raptured eyes the light of heaven 
shall break. 



J. R. SMITH. l6l 

BEAUTY. 

There's beauty in the earth and sky, 

When golden sunset lingers ; 
And in the gorgeous tints of dawn, 

Touched by Aurora's fingers. 
There's beauty in the rainbow's form, 

Revealed through falling showers ; 
And in the glow of summer fields, 

Made bright with blushing flowers. 
There's beauty in the stars of night — 

A beauty deep and solemn, 
One of the grandest mysteries 

Of Nature's ample volume. 
But grander, deeper, fairer still 

Are Friendship's welcome features, 
Glowing amid Misfortune's night, 

To bless all human creatures. 
The blushing cheek, the sparkling eye, 

The smile of fond affection, 
The gentle voice, the loving word, 

The brow of calm reflection, 
Have all a beauty of their own, 

An excellence transcendent, 
From whence the beauty of the soul 

Beams forth with ray resplendent. 



1 62 POEMS BY 

And oh ! what beauty, truth and grace 
In Bethlehem's sacred story, 

And in the faith of dear old saints 
Gone home to heaven and glory. 

Then far above all earthly gems, 
And beauteous beyond measure, 

The soul that feasts on love divine, 
As earth's supremest pleasure. 

HOME. 

Home ! there is magic in the word, 

And music in the sound; 
In it are golden treasures hid, 

That wanderers never found. 

Speak it to him who wanders lone 

O'er Afric's burning sands ; 
The echo of its gentlest tone 

Will stay his drooping hands ; 

Can nerve his soul with power unknown 

To suffer and perform, 
And bid him brave the hot simoon, 

Or sand-assailing storm. 

Speak it to him whose trackless path 

Lies 'mid eternal snows, 
While the dull life-blood through his heart 

In doubtful current flows. 



J. K. SMITH. 163 

Speak but that word : through every vein 

The vital current leaps ; 
Hope bears him o'er the icy plain, 

Or through the drifted heaps. 

Yes, Hope, sweet prophetess, will smile 

And point his distant home; 
And mark the end of all his toil, 

When he shall cease to roam. 

When with the friends of early life 

In happy converse met, 
With truth and love, in joy and peace, 

His days shall rise and set. 

Where all the dear relations meet, 

Of parents, children, friends ; 
Where mind with mind and heart with heart 

In perfect union blends. 

And there is virtue, if indeed 

She dwells beneath the skies, 
While sister graces hover near 

For household deities. 

My native home ! my early friends ! 

Dearly I love you still ; 
And He who reads the human heart, 

Knows that I ever will. 



164 POEMS BY 

FRIENDSHIP. 

O Friendship! child of birth divine! 

Heaven's sacred gift to mortals ; 
Happy the soul that's worthy found 

To dwell within thy portals. 

By thee are kindred spirits joined 
In bonds of true affection, 

And to the helpless and the weak 
Thou offerest protection. 

Some tell us thou'rt an empty name — 

A shadow and delusion, 
And all who put their trust in thee 

Do it to their confusion. 

They tell us Avarice rules the world, 
O'er Love and Truth prevailing ; 

That sordid Interest is the breeze 
In which Life's bark is sailing-. 

It is a slander, base and vile, 
Against our common nature, 

For thou art still a sacred boon 
To every mortal creature. 

Although thy counterfeits appear 

In plentiful variety, 
Yet art thou still the charm of life, 

And solace of societv. 



J. R. SMITH. 165 

When days are fair, false friends appear 
With words of friendship beaming, 

And we must learn well to discern 
The real from the seeming. 

Tis better that by seeming friends 

We oft should be deluded, 
Than from our hearts a real one 

Should ever be excluded. 

Friends meet and part and wander far, 
O'er earth and ocean straying; 

And yet, true friendship still remains, 
Undimmed and undecaying. 

So, 'tis my mind that you will find 

This friendship's true ideal; 
Time, fortune, absence, work no change 

In friendships that are real. 

And we may add this obvious truth, 

While in the subject peeping: 
Old friends are something like old wine, 

The better for the keeping. 

Still, as concerning earthly friends, 

We sometimes are mistaken ; 
Let us secure the Friend by whom 

We ne'er shall be forsaken. 



1 66 POEMS BY 

DAWN. 

If in early morn we rise. 
Ere the sun is in the skies, 
As the first faint gleams appear 
That betoken morning near, 
Darkness still o'er light prevails, 
And the keenest vision fails 
Clearly to discern the face 
Of the landscape in its grace. 
But as morn with dewy feet 
Follows darkness' slow retreat, 
And with fingers made of light 
Scatters wide the shades of night, 
Clearer still and still more clear 
Every object doth appear, 
Till the day-king, rising now 
O'er the woody mountain's brow, 
Pours abroad his wealth of rays, 
And the east is in a blaze ; 
Every object far and near 
Standing well defined and clear, 
Pencil'd in proportion grand 
By a sovereign artist's hand. 

Thus it is in childhood's hour, 
Nature's darkness holds its power 
O'er the feeble spiritVbirth, 
When we ope our eyes to earth; 



J. R. SMITH. 167 

But with laggard step retires 
As the soul's interior fires, 
Slowly kindling in the ray 
That begins life's little day, 
Send forth tiny gleams of sense, 
Sparks of quick intelligence, 
Breaking on the gloom profound, 
Caught from kindred spirits round. 
Thought and sense to being start — 
Mind to mind and heart to heart — 
Shining first with flickering ray, 
Brighter growing day by day, 
Till fair Knowledge with his power 
Opens wide his eastern door, 
And pours in a flood of light 
On the youthful spirit's sight, 
And all hidden things appear 
In a light defined and clear. 

Yet, O mortal ! not too soon 
Think to reach your mortal noon. 
As the sun with steady ray 
Rises to the perfect day, 
Slowly Knowledge thus imparts 
Truth to youthful minds and hearts. 

1875. 



1 68 poems \\x 

EPISTLE 

TO A BROTHER, ON RECEIVING HIS PICTURE. 

My brother! when I viewed that well-known 

face, 
In whose familiar lines I still could trace, 
As in days past, marks of the generous soul 
That o'er my heart still holds a firm control, 
My spirit stirred within, and I was fain 
To clasp thine image to my breast again. 
Though it was but a shadow, which the play 
Of changing thoughts and feelings ill display, 
Yet 'twas my brother's image, every feature, 
Not to be taken for other mortal creature- 
Nose, lip and brow ; it could not be another — 
John Scott, my loving, loved, long-absent 

brother. 
And happy for the time I deemed my lot, 
Even to behold the shade of brother Scott ; 
Though be assured, I would much rather see 
Your living self— the dear reality. 
Since I beheld you last long years have .fled, 
And some dear friends are mingled with the 

dead ; 
Yet, here's the same old face, though years of 

care 
Have left an added wrinkle here and there. 



J. R. SMITH. 169 

Quick recognition followed the first glance. 
I marked the look of warm benevolence 
As seen of old, and thought I could descry 
Sly humor in the corners of the eye, 
And native wit, which in our youthful days 
Loud joy and merriment was wont to raise ; 
While over all, for lighter traits to atone, 
A look of firm determination shone, 
And honest frankness, which was all your own. 
Those lips I watched until my eyes grew dim, 
As if to hear them whisper, "Brother Jim." 
'Twas all in vain ! and yet, 'twould much rejoice 
My soul to hear again that welcome voice ; 
But artist's skill must deal informs alone, 
And can not reproduce fond Friendship's tone. 
Still, magic power exists in Friendship's form, 
The soul to rapture and the heart to warm, 
Though through the eye alone it holds control, 
And finds but this one entrance to the soul. 

Blest be the art which thus so far atones 
For the long absence of beloved ones, 
By tracing on the tablet those fair lines, 
Where in the light of Memory reclines 
Sweet Friendship's image, which we fondly trace 
In the dear shade of some familiar face. 



I/O 



POEMS BY 



We view strange features with artistic eye, 
And taste and fancy then their office ply, 
To ask : ' ' Pray, is she pretty ? looks he wise ? ' ' 
But when some loved friend's features meet 

our eyes, 
Then fancy fled, the photographic art 
Speaks to the eye far less than to the heart, 
Since fond Affection can supply the place 
Of beauty, wisdom, wit or princely grace. 

My brother ! thy loved features woke within 
Some joyous thoughts, and some more sad, I 

ween ; 
I thought of childhood's hour, when you and I 
Together chased the bee or butterfly, 
Or traced the willowy banks of Roses' Brook 
To fish for trout, a crooked pin for hook, 
And deemed that pleasures were as quickly 

caught, 
Though time has since a different lesson taught. 
When older grown and nerves could stand the 

shock, 
We'd climb the "Old Clump" to the " Peaked 

Rock," 
And on the green, old tree-tops looking down, 
Cast rocks like Ajax, marring forest's crown ; 



J. R. SMITH. 17! 

And as they rumbled down the mountain's side 
Our merry shouts resounded far and wide. 
Then from our lofty station we'd survey 
Long mountain ranges stretching far away, 
While Roses' Brook, a thread of silver light, 
Wound through the fertile vale till lost to sight. 
Mountain o'er mountain rose, green, brown or 
blue, 

As seen in nearer or more distant view ; 

And 'mid those grand, old hill-tops, great and 

small, 
Old Clump arose the monarch of them all, 
While we, sole witness of the glorious sight, 
Gazed on the scene with shouts of glad delight ; 
Time scarce had passed with greater pleasure by, 
Had our perch been some mansion of the sky. 

And it was sport to chase the squirrel then, 
Or dig the woodchuck from his rocky den ; 
While gray old "Plum" or "Rover" shared 

our glee, 
And pawed and barked away right merrily. 

The years pass on, and work succeeds to play ; 

We toss the new mown grass or rake the hay, 

Or store it cured within the ample mow, 

A winter portion for the horse and cow. 
12 



1/2 POEMS BY 

And there would we conceal, where none might 

see, 
The blushing apple from our favorite tree, 
Or hunt for hen's nests sly hid away, 
Or play at tag, and tumble on the hay. 
You were the horseman, Scott, and loved to 

ride 
Brown ''Lark" or " Blackbird " to the water's 

side ; 
And when they'd drank their fill, return as fleet 
As if they spurned the ground beneath their 

feet; 
While I more timorous, or else more slow, 
Deemed it was sport enough to see you go. 

Association here recalls to mind 
That guardian of our childhood, good and kind, 
Whose name is on your lip ere I can speak ; 
Whose love, methinks, death had no power to 

break. 
Aunt Janett! generous, kind-hearted, true, 
Who never had a selfish end in view ; 
Who helped the helpless, came at pity's call, 
And spent her life in doing good to all. 
Good shepherdess ! she took us to her arms 
In infant years to shield from vain alarms, 



J. R. SMITH. I73 

To ease our tottering steps when life was young, 
Or still our crying with her gentle tongue. 
How oft our hours of childish grief were lit 
By some bright sally of her Scottish wit, 
Till smiles succeeded tears, and all our sky 
Was brightened by her love and sympathy — 
A second mother even from our birth. 
But she is gone, who had no foe on earth ; 
Through all our lives we found her love the 

same ; 
In heaven, methinks, still burns the genial flame, 
Nor will her pure affection ere decay, 
Though time should cease and systems pass 

away. 
I see thine eye respond with gentle gaze 
To all that I can utter in her praise. 

And we had parents, too, who took delight 
In laboring for our good from morn till night ; 
Who soothed our childish griefs or checked 

our strife, 
And showed our erring feet the way of life. 
A mother who did all that mother could 
To make her children happy, kind and good ; 
A father whose warm prayer was day by day 
That we might ever walk in Wisdom's way. 



174 POEMS BY 

And we had sisters too, a merry group 
Of laughing maidens, full of joy and hope, 
Who for our pleasure would their thoughts 

employ, 
Our steadfast friends in sorrow or in joy ; 
But time has passed, and they are women now, 
With marks of care upon each gentle brow ; 
Yet we've our sisters' warm affection still, 
That years of cares and sorrows can not chill. 
And some have passed where sorrow is no 

more ; 
Oh, may we meet them on the heavenly shore, 
And when the storms and cares of life are past, 
And man's great enemy o'ercome at last, 
A family complete, oh, may we rise, 
Transfigured in the glory of the skies ! 
I fain would cease, but memory lingers still, 
Like sunset pausing on the distant hill, 
To gild familiar scenes to Friendship's sight, 
Ere sunk forever in Oblivion's night. 

The old brown school-house, how shall we 

forget ? 
That graced the green, hard by where three 

ways met ; 
The wicket-gate of Knowledge, whose door-sill 
Was to our feet the base of Science' hill. 



J. K. SMITH. 175 

If since that day we've found a higher place, 
We'll not forget where we began the race ; 
Those simple, white-washed walls and desks of 

pine, 
Those long-legged benches where we could 

recline 
Half way between the floor and arched ceiling, 
Our feet in vain for a foundation feeling ; 
Where Gemmel, Breck and Dales and Spence 

and Reed, 
Pointed up Science hill and took the lead. 

Temple of Science! memory recalls 

Much that transpired within thine honored 

walls : 
The weary tasks by which our minds were 

pressed 
From Murray, Daboll, Woodbridge and the 

rest ; 
The roguish pranks and capers quick and sly, 
To which our pent-up laughter made reply, 
Starting the indignant master from his chair 
Like couchant lion springing from his lair, 
And as he grasped his birch with steadfast 

sway, 
How like enchantment mischief died away. 
All these fond memories and more beside, 



176 POEMS BY 

Fain would I save from Time's remorseless tide, 
As some bold diver in the ocean wave, 
Of sunken cargoes would a portion save. 

Days of our youth ! how quickly are ye fled ! 
Like you we soon must mingle with the dead, 
And even our choicest acts remembered be 
As echoes of a past eternity. 
Tis thus receding from Old Ocean's shore, 
Less and less loud we hear his breakers roar. 

Father of all ! help us to live to thee ; 
Teach us the grace of sweet humility, 
That when our days are numbered, we may 

rest 
In thine embrace, and rise among the blest. 



EPISTLE 

TO V. B. WEBSTER, ESQ., POLO, ILL. 

There is a place well known to fame, 
Which bears a famous traveler's name- 
One who explored, with tireless pains, 
Great Asia's wide-extended plains ; 
Who, living still, might deem it joy 
To see his name in Illinois, 
Perpetuated in a place 
As fair as aught her prairies grace ; 



J. R. SMITH. 177 

Upon a track where long rich trains 

Of commerce sweep the fertile plains — 

Drawn by the puffing iron steed 

That scours those plains with lightning speed; 

Whose food is fire, whose breath is steam, 

And whose voice centres in a scream 

So loud 'tis heard for miles afar, 

Startling the wild beast in his lair, 

And matching all the tales they tell 

Of the terrific Indian yell. 

Hard by this town a grove of trees 

Makes murmuring music in the breeze, 

Whose name imports 'twas long ago 

A haunt for herds of buffalo,* 

That roamed these grassy plains of yore, 

Pursued by red-men now no more. 

How changed the scene 'twixt now and then : 

For see the homes of busy men 

From many an Eastern hill and glen, 

Who have exchanged the stubborn soil 

In which their fathers used to toil, 

For the rich gardens of the West, 

By bounteous heaven and nature blest. 

And from our native Delaware, 

Here dwell brave men and matrons fair, 

;> Bufifalo Grove. 



I 78 POEMS BY 

With whom in childhood's hour we played 
Beneath the maple's grateful shade ; 
Together climbed his mountains high — 
Whose shoulders seem to bear the sky — 
And saw, 'mid scenery rude and wild, 
Rock upon rock in grandeur piled, 
And heard the trickling waters drip 
Down Nature's rudest workmanship. 

Now, met once more in manhood's prime, 

We mark the rapid flight of time, 

And bless the Power that keeps us still 

'Mid varying scenes of good and ill. 

As friendly converse rules the hour, 

The past looms up with magic power, 

And early memories arise 

Of happy childhood's sunny skies — 

Of rustic sports and school-boy days, 

And mutual friends whose names we praise,. 

Perhaps now slumbering in graves 

O'er which the cypress sadly waves. 

What grief to those fair scenes was sent 
In the troublous days of Anti-Rent, 
When stalwart men to war would go, 
Their stout limbs hid in calico ; 
Faces in sheep-skin mask uncouth, 
With breathing place for nose and mouth, 



J. R. SMITH. 179 

And holes from whence the eye might glare 
With vacant and unearthly stare ; 
Tricked off with horrid horns and ears, 
As if from subterranean spheres, 
Satan with half his legions rose 
The stubborn landlords to oppose, 
And raise in our once peaceful home 
An earthly pandemonium. 

And when those hosts were coming down, 
As Rumor said, on Delhi town, 
To rescue prisoners from the jail, 
Old Delaware's heart began to quail. 
But merchants, lawyers and physicians, 
Preachers and clerks and politicians — 
Ranged in a row with guns and swords, 
Pistols and pitchforks and brave words — 
Wrought mighty deeds of valor there, 
And even staid Delhi got a scare. 

Now all those troublous scenes are past, 
And hushed is War's portentous blast ; 
And scenes more dreadful still than they 
Have swept our land and passed away; 
And still the walls of Delhi stand, 
The fairest village in the land — 
Cradled amid proud hills that rise 
To meet her bright and azure skies. 



l8o POEMS BY 

And still in Polo's busy streets 
The Delawarean sometimes meets 
Men who beheld these scenes of yore, 
And hold them still in memory's store, 
And who, like Eneas, might say: 
"Pars fut"—"! was in the fray." 



THE ATHEIST'S HYMN. 

DEDICATED TO THE VOTARIES OF CHANCE. 

Almighty Chance ! I plainly see 
There is no other god but thee, 
And, therefore, to thy name I'll raise 
The grateful tribute of my praise. 
Awake, asleep, at work or play, 
Thou dost protect us day by day, 
And all our needful wants supply ; 
Nor will we ask the reason why, 
Since being, cause and consequence 
Are found in thee, Almighty Chance. 
By Chance we eat or drink or sleep, 
Or love or hate, rejoice or weep ; 
When sick or hungry, Chance is good 
To bring us medicine and food. 
Chance clothes our nakedness and sends 
Unto our succor troops of friends. 



J. R. SMITH. l8l 

How beauteous is the world we see, 

Whose diverse elements agree 

To form one grand, harmonious whole 

To wonder and delight the soul ; 

And yet, O Chance, we owe to thee 

This universal harmony. 

By Chance the stars like jewels shine, 

With random aimlessness divine ; 

By Chance the brilliant flowrets bloom, 

And yield their subtle, sweet perfume ; 

The feathered songsters on the spray 

By Chance send forth their sweetest lay ; 

And 'tis by Chance our senses learn 

These varied beauties to discern ; 

Each sense its proper function takes, 

For Sovereign Chance no blunder makes. 

By Chance we come, by Chance we go, 
And whither bound we never know ; 
By Chance we live, by Chance we die 
In glorious uncertainty ; 
And, when our mortal frames grow cold, 
Chance leaves us nought but lifeless mould. 
Therefore, O Chance, I plainly see 
There is no other god but thee. 



1 82 POEMS BY 

THE MOUNTAIN SPRING. 

Up from its cool and rocky bed 

Bubbled a mountain spring ; 
As on its laughing way it sped, 

Methought I heard it sing : 

" Come, taste of me, melodious bird, 
And squirrel, chirping shrill, 
And prowling wild beast, fierce and strong; 
Come here, and drink your fill. 

" And you, O man, whom God hath given 
Right wisdom to discern, 
Come, too, and of th' unreasoning brute 
A useful lesson learn. 

" God gave to thoughtless beast and bird 
Instinct alone to guide, 
While to himself, in Reason's gift, 
Man hath he close allied. 

" Yet, oft perverted, Reason leads 
The human soul astray ; 
While Instinct, pure from God's own hand, 
Keeps its appointed way. 

" Then as God's creatures, instinct taught, 
Stoop to my crystal brink, 
Think : Thus He shows the better way — 
And shun the drunkard's drink." 



J. R. SMITH. 183 



THE SPELL BOUND. 

" Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an 
enemy are deceitful." — Solomon. 

Twas on old England's classic shore, 

'Mid shadows of the heretofore — 

Far back where legends quaint and grim, 

The rays of sober truth bedim, 

Weaving a woof of fable free 

Into the warp of history, 

And mingling in proportion due 

The wild and wondrous with the true, 

Till none can tell, so deftly blended, 

Where either is begun or ended— 

There lived in good King Arthur's hall 

One Carle, a page, beloved by all ; 

Though but a puny dwarf in size, 

Whose uncouth shape might well surprise: 

Distorted in each limb and feature, 

To view a most forbidding creature ; 

And yet, so good and brave and kind, 

With ways so gentle and refined, 

So ready still by word and deed 

To lend his aid in time of need — 

None might his noble deeds excel, 

And all that knew him loved him well. 



184 POEMS BY 

Yet sorrow often filled his eye 
At thought of his deformity ; 
And, when unnoticed and alone, 
His breast would heave the frequent groan, 
Until, with every passing breath, 
He made one ceaseless prayer for death. 
And this request would oft prefer 
To every friendly courtier 
Who wore th' accustom'd knightly blade: 
li I pray thee, friend, smite off my head." 

In proffering this strange request 

He gave his friends no peace or rest ; 

And sorrow filled the hearts of all, 

For he was loved in Arthur's hall. 

One day, with soul oppressed with pain, 

He met the noble Knight Gawaine, 

And cried in tears: " Oh ! why delay ? 

Smite off my head, good friend, I pray." 

With looks of wonder and surprise 

The knight beheld his pleading eyes, 

And read his agony of soul, 

When some strange impulse, past control, 

Bade him uplift the glittering blade 

And quick smite off the page's head. 

But lo ! a miracle appears — 

A face as fair as angel wears 

Springs from the headless trunk, and see : 



J. R. SMITH. 185 

A noble knight of high degree, 
Ready in Honor's cause t' engage, 
Stands in place of shapeless page. 

Poor Carle is changed to brave Carlisle, 
The glory of the British isle ; 
Whose arms victorious in the field 
Have oft made foes and traitors yield, 
But bound by foul Enchanter's hand, 
A shapeless dwarf, could ne'er command 
His own fair form, until some friend 
Should this sure proof of love extend, 
To set the spell-bound captive free 
By smiting his deformity. 

In this strange tale we see revealed 

A truth that may not be concealed — 

A noble lesson, good as gold, 

Long since in kingly proverb told : 

That Friendship's wounds will ever prove 

The dictates of unfaltering love, 

While a foes' blandishments, though sweet, 

Are but the fruit of vile deceit. 

The honest friend that loves you well 

Will to your face your failings tell, 

Smiting each soul deformity 

To set the captive spirit free, 

Which Flattery's satanic charm 

Would bind in Error's monstrous form. 



1 86 POEMS BY 

JOHN MILTON. 

Great Milton — blind, 

Had I thy mind, 
With thine eyes I might be content, 

Although no ray 

Of cheerful day 
Was to thy sightless eyeballs sent. 

Yet light divine 

On thee did shine, 
And bright illumed thine inmost soul ; 

Thy mental eye 

Scanned earth and sky 
With almost a supreme control. 

Earth's outward blaze 

Escaped thy gaze, 
But Fate thy soul could never shroud ; 

On wing of light 

Thy Muse's flight 
Was as an eagle's through the cloud. 

Oh, give my soul 

A strong control 
Of broad Imagination's realm, 

Let Wisdom guide 

Across the tide, 
And god-like Reason hold the helm. 



J. R. SMITH. 187 

Then shall no glow 

Of earthly show, 
No proud display of pomp and power, 

Ere tempt my heart 

From thee to part, 
Fair Muse, or wander from thy bower. 

When death's repose 

My numbers close — 
And cold the hand that swept the strings — 

A chosen few 

Shall welcome you, 
Saved from the list of perished things. 

And when Fm laid 

Beneath the shade, 
Where dark the cypress branches wave, 

May some kind word 

Like this be heard 
Above the place that marks my grave. 

Beneath this stone 

There slumbers one 
Whose soul at least from guile was free ; 

His faults confess'd, 

Here let them rest 
Forever 'neath the cypress tree. 
13 



I 88 POEMS BY 

ROBERT BURNS. 

Why is the name of Burns so dear 
In every land, both far and near , 
But that he walked with vision clear 

Upon Parnassus, 
And sang sweet human songs, to cheer 

Earth's lads and lasses ? 

Uncalled, his ready numbers start 
Fresh from the fountains of the heart, 
And to our souls a sense impart 

Of friendship warm, 
That binds us to his tuneful art 

With magic charm. 

His free and independent soul 

From tyrants ne'er could brook control, 

Yet human worth he would extol, 

To interest blind, 
As true as needle to the pole, 

To human kind. 

Old Scotia ! thou didst give him birth ; 
Before all lands he prized thy worth ; 
His choicest songs of love and mirth 

Were sung for thee, 
Yet stirred the kindred hearts of earth 

In sympathy. 



J. R. SMITH. 189 

Uprising at his strong behest, 

In earnest now and now in jest, 

Forth noble thoughts and visions pressed 

In rank and file, 
Which caused, as suited him the best, 

A tear or smile. 

He sang a song for every stage 
Of life's uncertain pilgrimage — 
For rich and poor, for youth and age, 

For bond and free ; 
And even Devotion, on his page 

Was place for thee. 

He glowed in patriotic themes, 
And saw Old Scotia in his dreams, 
And in his graceful " Vision " gleams 

Her form divine ; 
Her heathery hills and murmuring streams 

Live in his line. 

Forever be his memory dear, 

In every land, both far and near, 

As long as love hath power to cheer 

Or verse to thrill ; 
His faults we leave without a tear 

To mercy still. 



[9O POKMS BY 



BATTLE OF KENNESAW MOUNTAIN. 

An account is given in the Herald and Presbyter, of Cin- 
cinnati, for February 29. 1888, of an incident said to have 
occurred at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. The Federal 
wounded had been taken to the cover of a wood near the 
field. During the engagement the woods took fire, igniting 
the brush-wood where the wounded were lying. They 
raised a cry of alarm, which the contending armies heard, 
and throwing down their arms, soldiers from both sides were 
detailed to rescue their unfortunate countrymen. Having 
taken them to a place of safety, they renewed the contest, 
an incident illustrating the fact that humanity will some- 
time assert itself even in the face of sectional strife. 

Fiercely the contest raged between 

Our countrymen and brothers, 
As the sharp strife for victory, 

All other feeling smothers. 
But soon loud cries of anguish rise 

From wounded men and dying, 
For running forest fires have caught 

The brush-wood where they're lying. 
Brave foemen all hear Pity's call, 

And a brief truce is sounded, 
While warring factions are combined 

In rescue of the wounded. 
Thus oft Humanity asserts 

Itself on fields of battle, 



J. R. SMITH. I9I 

Above the power that drives men forth 

To war like human cattle. 
O comrades, in whose souls the fire 

Of human love is burning, 
Will ye again renew the strife, 

To deeds of blood returning ? 
Who is at fault that those who seek 

No quarrel with each other 
Stand pitted in the ranks of war, 

Brave brother against brother? 
Ye say where Honor's voice is heard 

Brave men will never falter, 
But willingly lay down their lives 

Upon their country's altar? 
Are Patriotism and Honor then 

Gods of our own devices, 
Who like grim Moloch take delight 

In human sacrifices? 
Sure those who lit the flames of war 

Should say with deep contrition : 
The power that led our souls astray 

Was the demon of Ambition. 

Our country's honor ! oh, what hosts 

Are sacrificed to thee ! 
And yet, there is a better way, 

The way of Charity. 



192 



POEMS BY 



THE BATTLE OF SHACKSVILLE. 

A HISTORY OF CERTAIN EVENTS THAT OCCURRED DURING 

THE ANTI-RENT TROUBLES IN DELAWARE COUNTY, 

N. Y., IN THE FIFTH DECADE OF THE 

PRESENT CENTURY. 

I sing the horrors of intestine war, 

That griped the bowels of our Empire State 
With spasms of colic, set the w 7 orld ajar 

And waked the elements of strife and hate. 
Doctors had thought our system needed purg- 
ing, 

Perhaps the opening of a vein or two ; 
And then, so eloquent were they in urging 

Their sage prescriptions, we believed them 
true. 
The way we set to work (i phebotomizing * 
The body-politic" was most surprising. 

But first, of the disease that we endured 
Must I relate — for, sure, I need not tell 

That if there's no distemper to be cured, 
The patient's case must be incurable. 

But, as good luck will have it, there are names 
For every one of all the foul diseases 



•■An expression used by Gen. Erastus Root in one of his 
speeches. 



J. R. SMITH. 193 

That racks the body or the mind inflames, 

And ours they called " a cholera of leases ; ' 
A direful ailment, worse than epilepsy, 
Unknown in ancient practice like dyspepsia. 

Sure symptoms of this evil threatened long 

In the dull, hectic flush of Anti-Rent ; 
When bogus Indians met in council strong, 

Patroons* and landlords thus to circumvent. 
Disguised in sheep-skin masks and calico, 

They aimed to dodge the officers of law, 
Who, not knowing whereto these things might 
grow, 

Begin to hold their secret bands in awe, 
And, when a Deputy had lost his life, I 
Called on the State to help them quell the strife. 

Then soon, on chargers swift, with claymores 
stout, 

Came brave and war-like men from Albany, 
To help the sheriff's posse ferret out 

These subtle foes to peace and harmony. 
And ominous sounds of war in Delhi town 



*The Dutch name of the first landed proprietors in New 
York State. 

t Deputy Sheriff O. N. Steele was killed at a Sheriff's sale, 
after which the State voted aid to quell the disturbances. 



194 POEMS BY 

Foreboded deeds of desperation dire, 
While bold recruiters, pacing up and down, 

Filled listless souls with patriotic fire : 
For a new law* was made, as you must know, 
That none but women should wear calico. 

Led by the young Achilles of West Point, 

The place where heroes are to order made, 
Though their raw ranks are somewhat out of 
joint, 

They're eager all to try Death's ghastly trade ; 
But cantering through the mud to Shacksville 
town 

(Some half a score of houses on a hill), 
They find, alas ! no foe their fame to crown, 

Which greatly doth their warlike ardor chill ; 
Yet found they things obnoxious to patroons, 
In weary nags and muddy pantaloons. 

So in conception only lived the fray, 

Though Rumor said the foe would sure be 
there ; 

And to be treated in this shabby way, 

Was fit to drive even brave men to despair. 



*A law was passed against wearing disguises daring these 
troubles. 



J. R. SMITH. I95 

Yet in uniqueness 'twas a famous battle, 

For, though no drop of human blood was 
spilt, 

There was much sweating there, and din and 
rattle 

Of rusty broadswords loosened at the hilt ; 

And in the fields there were some frightened 
cattle 

That ran like rogues overtaken in their guilt ; 

And now and then men gave a deadly blow 

At straggling bushes clad in calico. 

And thus the battle ended. Tell me now, 

Ye brave, who love so well the field of strife, 
Whence comes the glory bound upon your 
brow ? 

Comes it from spilling blood ? The butcher's 
knife 

Spills more by measure in one day, I trow, 

Than your bright blade in all your valiant life. 

If blood-letting be fame then, for a sample 

Set butchers highest up in Glory's temple. 

But I must cease, and wind up like a clock, 

Lest I run down like one, which would be 
sad ; 

Or wreck upon some literary rock, 

Which would but make the hungry critics 
glad, 



I96 POEMS BY 

Since all the wealth that might survive the 
shock 
They would devour — no buccaneer so bad ; 
And feast upon each racy, rich variety 
Until the rogues were glutted to satiety. 

And so farewell, my muse ! farewell, my story ! 

And gentle, patient reader, fare thee well ; 
I might have mentioned other deeds of glory 

This war brought forth, but I've no time to 
tell ; 
Besides, should I set all the facts before you, 

You might declare such things incredible ; 
Or gently hint I was mistaken quite, 
Or say, " You lie, "which wouldn't be polite. 
1847 

THE DRUNKARD'S ADDRESS TO HIS 

BOTTLE. 

"Ah! long-necked hypocrite! you promised 
me 

A life of ease and pleasure, and a round 

Of rapturous enjoyment without end 

'Mid jovial companions. You agreed 

To make me rich and happy, if I'd keep 

You for a body-servant ; but instead, 

You have become the master, I the slave. 



J. R. SMITH. 197 

You've robbed me of both character and purse ; 

You've brought unto my household want and 
woe ; 

Clothed me and mine in rags, and then com- 
missioned 

A legion of foul spirits to torment me. 

This is the precious service that you render 

To the poor fool that trusts you : beat him down 

Like any vile highwayman, take his purse, 

And leave him in the gutter. O thou mocker ! 

I'll never trust that lying smile again ; 

I'll break thy glassy bones upon a rock, 

And with thy broken skull Til scar the moon ! 

Yet dost thou boast that thou hast power to 
strengthen 

The bonds of friendship and of social joy. 

Witness, ye heavens ! and see the recompense 

Of all my fond devotion and my love ! 

Love ? Yes ; I loved thee once. That smile 
again — 

That balmy breath ! it steals my heart away. 

Oh ! it is hard to say farewell forever. 

We'll take one kind embrace before we part. 

{Drinks) 

I'll taste of thee again, and yet again. 

{Drinks) 



I98 POEMS BY 

Ah! thou dost warm my blood and fire my brain, 
And bid me dare what fiends might shrink to 

do. 
And have I called thee names, my darling 

bottle? 
And said thy breath was foul ? 'Tis false, 'tis 

false ! 
Thou hast a pleasant smile, a ruby lip, 
A sparkling eye, and oh ! thy fragrant breath 
Is sweeter than the sweet perfume of flowers! 
And thou art strong, for thou hast power to 

chase 
Tormenting spirits hence. Avaunt, ye fiends ! 
Ye can not harm me now. My darling bottle ! 
I'll hug thee ever to my joyful breast ; 
I'll wear thee next my heart, and I will curse 
Thy slanderers, those vile teetotalers, 
And stand by thee till I can stand no longer, 
Then falling, be the happiest man on earth. 

{He falls ■, also the cm tain.) 



J. R. SMITH. I99 

JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

Fallen is our nation's honored chief, 

Struck by the vile assassin's hand, 
And loyal hearts are bowed with grief 

O'er all our wide extended land ! 
From East to West, from North to South, 

Are wafted notes of woe forlorn 
From every household of our land, 

Like Egypt for her eldest born. 
No common sorrow do we feel, 

Since we no common loss sustain ; 
Amid our nation's honored sons, 

Where shall we find his like again ? 
A hand so strong, a heart so true, 

An eye so clear to see the right, 
With courage dauntless to pursue 

His chosen path in Wisdom's light? 
From the low vale of poverty 

He saw "Fame's temple shine afar," 
And with a heaven-given strength and zeal 

Passed o'er "the unconquerable bar." 
He mused in Academus' shade, 

And deeply delved in Learning's mine ; 
Beheld Truth's sacred form displayed, 

And listened to her voice divine ; 
True to that sacred voice through life, 



OO POEMS BY 

As Honor's pathway he pursued, 
He gained alike, 'mid peace or strife, 

A nation's love and gratitude. 
Now to her legislative hall 

His State her favorite son would bring; 
And as he answers to her call, 

His heart is in the offering. 
And when fierce waves of civil strife 

Sweep o'er the country far and wide, 
He gives the choicest years of life 

To stay Rebellion's angry tide. 
Then from a grateful people comes 

A call still higher to arise, 
And he to his loved country bends 

His soul's best gifts and energies. 
But one step more; he's at the height, 

Ambition's highest, proudest goal, 
And stands in wisdom, grace and might, 

A nation's interests to control. 
But ah ! for us a bitter stroke ; 

Blind Envy's venomed arrow flies, 
And from Earth's highest place he takes 

A higher station in the skies ! 
Another guides the ship of state, 

Another hears his country's call; 
On him who holds a trust so great, 

May our loved leader's mantle fall. 



J. R. SMITH. 20I 

WHICH OF THE TWAIN? 

"The soft, voluptuous opiate shades! 
The sun just gone, the eager light dispelled, 
(I too will soon be gone, dispelled.) 
A haze, Nirvana, night and rest, oblivion." 

— Walt Whitman, in Century Magazine. 

"Nirvana, night, oblivion." Oh, poor Walt! 

Is there no power that can thy faith exalt 

Above the foggy beams of "Asia's Light," 

Struggling through centuries of moral night, 

Which it could ne'er expel, but left the soul 

Groping 'neath Superstition's dark control ? 

Think'st thou to find a cure for Earth's distress 

In the false fable of Forgetfulness ? 

Can all Oblivion's waters satisfy 

' ' This longing after immortality " ? 

Can our frail barks with confidence and ease 

Launch forth into unknown infinities 

Without a chart, a compass or a guide 

To show the way o'er Death's mysterious tide, 

And only find at last, our souls to bless, 

A vision of Nirvana — nothingness ? 

Sure, there's a better hope, a purer joy, 

A happier song which may our tongues employ, 

When called to quit this strangely checkered 

scene, 
In the sweet Gospel of the Nazarene. 



202 POEMS BY J. R. SMITH. 

ON THE CLOSE OE LIFE. 

When we draw near the closing hours of life, 
And all our mortal powers shall faint and fail, 
What will we contemplate with greatest joy? 
Our fond pursuit of earthly happiness ? 
Our earnest struggles after wealth and fame? 
Our vaunted victories over fallen foes, 
With all the fleeting joys of flesh and sense ? 

Far from our souls will then be thoughts like 

these ; 
Such retrospect will seem like harvest field 
O'erswept by fires, whose light and heat are 

gone, 
And left a blackened waste. Then shall we joy 
In evil conquered and in pride renounced, 
In good accomplished and in sorrow soothed, 
The cup of water held to thirsty lips, 
The bread of life to hungry souls dispensed, 
The lamp of lite held high that men may see, 
And wayward spirits find, the road to heaven. 
Oh, then shall it be our supreme delight 
To rest upon the promises of God, 
Relying solely on the gracious work 
Of him who hath our sins and sorrows borne, 
Who, rich in heavenly glory, became poor, 
That we poor exiles from our Father's house 
Might go to be forever with the Lord. 



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